


So Breaks the Light

by CaptainTarthister



Series: Blue Awakening [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Death, Dubious Consent, F/M, Falling In Love, Serial Pattern, Sibling Incest, trial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-10-25 21:18:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10772625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainTarthister/pseuds/CaptainTarthister
Summary: What is there to live for after so much pain? Jaime is determined to show Brienne that being down is an advantage in the battles to come. He is her knight, her protector but who will protect him from his own past?Rated Mature for language and certain depictions of sex.





	1. All That We Need

__

There was no confusion or surprise when Jaime opened his eyes the next morning. His stare was clear, easily recognizing the broad, pale back facing him. Ruffled hair the color and texture of straw curled at the edges towards the nape.

Freckles mapped the breadth of Brienne’s back, pink and red patches that reminded him of a color palette or paint spilled across a floor. If he were a poet, he would know a nicer, more beautiful way of describing them. They were, in fact, quite beautiful. Her skin was smooth and surprisingly soft.

He turned on his back, staring at the ceiling. His body was stiff and some tiredness lingered. They had only fucked once, far less than Jaime was used to. He would go another round, or rounds, if Brienne wanted. His cock stirred at the thought, and saw no problem in making this true in a few minutes.

He wanted her.

And it was terrifying.

The summer when Joanna died, when he and Cersei turned to each other, there was nothing to fear. Cersei’s tears were endless and her sobs would only be silenced by his kisses. Burying himself deep in her, he too could forget the loss of their mother. They slept in Cersei’s bed, Jaime sneaking in her room late in the night then slipping out just before dawn to avoid getting caught by servants. There should have been fear in getting caught.

For that summer, they dealt with their grief through fucking. It was wrong, both of them knew so, but the loneliness only stopped when with each other. Joanna was probably turning in her grave, helplessly watching in horror as her son and daughter had each other in the way she thought had prevented. Neither Jaime nor Cersei cared. She was his sister and she was devastated. It was his responsibility to take care of her, make her feel better. Or make her forget. Fucking was not a relief, nor did it fuel an insatiable wanting. It was escape, as they only knew how.

Jaime remembered waking up after the first night. Cersei was watching him sleep, lovelier in the dawn with her emerald eyes and delicate, defined features, the spill of her golden hair on her narrow shoulders. He expected reproach, disgust.

Instead, she asked if he felt better. That if not, they could do it again.

He told her she should want the same thing.

“I want to forget, Jaime.”

Maybe this was Cersei’s only reason. Jaime never asked. They were doing something wrong and worried that if he asked, if they discussed it more than they should, they would end up justifying it. He did not feel any fear or an iota of uncertainty when fucking his sister. They were both lonely. Being with each other, inside each other, was how they would forget. He was with Cersei because he had to be. She was family and she was hurting. He had to do something. His cock stirred when she kissed him but outside of what he _must_ do, there was no desire for his sister.

He stared at the gentle rise and fall of Brienne’s shoulders as she slept. She was still and breathing steadily. No bad dreams. He wondered if what they did had something to do about it. Or maybe as she slept, knowing he was beside her, was enough protection from nightmares. He hoped so.

He also hoped for something more.

It made him shudder. Told him he should leave, get back to normal. But something about last night. . .and it wasn’t only because she had been virgin. Something shifted in him, a change that would never be undone. The first sign was the need to look in her eyes, to touch her. To see if she would touch him on her own, without needing his protection.

Suddenly, her shoulder stiffened. Her breath quickened. Jaime was right behind her, an arm around her waist and his lips pressing on the side of her neck, her shoulder. Her legs moved listlessly and he had to throw his over them to still her. He sensed the moment her eyes opened and she realized where she was.

“J-Jaime?” She whispered, sounding afraid.

“I’m here.” He kissed her on the shoulder and held her. “You were dreaming?”

She nodded. “But. . .it didn’t happen like it often did. I was only in the study. He didn’t. . .he wasn’t there. Not anymore.” As she finished speaking, she turned in his arms, curling toward him. It would be funny seeing her curl and bend her tall, big body as she was doing. Maybe someday. Instead, he opened his arms and she nuzzled there, like a helpless animal in need for warmth and comfort. He held her fast, kissing her sweaty temple, her cheek, her shoulder. He knew he should give her space, time to breathe. It was the right thing to do but he also rebelled at the idea.

And she wasn’t pushing him away.

Instead, she was raising her head and offering him her swollen lips. They were red, chapped and looked twice their normal size _. From kissing me. Because of me._ He cupped the back of her head with one hand while he dragged her leg over his hip with the other. He didn’t give her time to get used to his mouth, devouring her sweet offer instantly as he ground his cock against her cunt. She was unusually sticky though she wasn’t very wet yet. _Seven Hells._ He wasn’t going to forget just how slick she was. The grimace that made her uglier as she struggled to get him inside her. Brienne sensed his kisses slowing down because she pulled away.

Though the sun seemed to have crashed and flared its beams in the room, it was not vivid sapphire eyes looking at him. They were big with worry. Her lower lip trembled as she spoke.

“Are you. . .do you want me to leave?”

He answered by slipping his hand between her thighs, a finger entering her cunt. She quaked, whimpering at the sudden intrusion. Then he held up his hand, showing her the dried smears of blood collected. The blood in her person seemed to pool in her cheeks.

“Let’s get you cleaned up first. And then we’ll see, alright?”

But Brienne, though she was blushing, shook her head, panicked. “No, Jaime. Please don’t go. I’m okay. I don’t—I’m not hurt—“

She was grabbing him, showing him how strong she was. As he toppled back on top of her, she let out a gasp. He remembered why but she tugged his lips down to hers, kissing him. Her kisses were wet, slobbery, very unschooled but eager. _No, desperate._ Jaime was getting impossibly, painfully hard but until she was clear in the head, as much as he longed to, he couldn’t fuck her. His heart broke at what she was going through, and to turn only to him because she was all alone.

With great difficulty and greater reluctance, he extricated himself from her warm embrace, her inexpert but very sweet kisses. Brienne looked tearful but he had to be firm.

“Wench, this isn’t. . .you’re still hurting—“

“I am not.” _Obstinate woman._

She was making things so _fucking hard_. She squirmed under him, hips bucking, cunt teasing his cock. Jaime was sure he was going to die.

“Brienne, let’s take it easy—“

“I won’t break. I’m not glass.”

“I didn’t say you were—“

“Jaime, please.” This time she sobbed. “Please. Please. . .f-fuck me.” It was clear it embarrassed her because she was so red.

Gods, when she spoke like that. Jaime groaned and his head fell on her shoulder.

_“Fuck me, please.”_

He closed his eyes. He didn’t know if he was praying. If he was praying, he wasn’t sure about what. As Brienne continued to plea in that way that made him grateful to be lying down, his cock got harder and harder. When her thigh brushed against it, he snapped. Jaime hauled himself up, seizing her wrists to rest them by her ears. Brienne looked up at him owlishly. Her sapphire eyes were strangely wet.

“That what you want?’ He demanded.

“You’re all I want,” she whispered, as if expecting him to laugh or reject her cruelly.

“I don’t believe you’re not sore.”

She flushed and didn’t speak. There it was. The truth. She was as powerfully built as a castle wall but her eyes would always give her away.

“I don’t want you hurt.”

“You will never hurt me.”

“Brienne—“

“Jaime, it was only last night when. . .there was no nightmare.” Her voice was as small as a child’s. “I know what I’m asking. I know I’m not to be wanted but just today. . .please? If you could just give me this one day.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

She bit her lip. “You make me forget.”

 _I don’t want to fuck you to forget_! He wanted to yell at her. But he was selfish and greedy. He wanted her and if this was how they could be together. . .for now, he will be what she needed. Jaime wouldn’t agree easily, however.

“You want me to fuck you?”

She blushed and nodded.

That was amusing. And intriguing. “For someone who was begging me to fuck her, you suddenly can’t stand to hear the word?”

“I never say the word that way.”

“Only with me?” He liked that.

She nodded again.

“Good. But before we fuck again, some things first.” Brienne frowned and tried to wrench her wrists free from his hands but Jaime held her firmly. It made his stomach turn realizing that the men who had abused her before was after this—succeeding in conquering her giant, unyielding body. Making her beg for cock. But he knew there was no hope of conquering her. He would never. Admittedly, he liked hearing her beg but she was begging him to fuck her so she would forget.

“First,” he continued, looking into her beautiful eyes and marveling at their unusual, vibrant shade. “We do this my way. That means I kiss you a lot. Everywhere.”

Brienne looked aghast. “Why?”

“Why? Wench, if you think fucking is just putting my cock in your cunt, you’re mistaken. One that I can rectify. I will kiss you. Everywhere. As much as I want.” His voice shook when he spoke the next words. “I expect the same from you.”

“I kiss you a lot.”

“Not everywhere.”

Confused, she demanded, “Where else do you want me to kiss you?”

“That’s up to you. But wherever I kiss you, I expect twice the return. Think of it as an investment.” This time, he grinned. “A Lannister always collects debts. Surely you’ve heard of that?”

She scowled but nodded.

“And when we fuck, I don’t want you uttering more nonsense about your looks, how you’re not to be wanted and all the ridiculousness going around this big head of yours. You are ugly. In the daylight, you truly are the ugliest thing. That’s an established fact. But it doesn’t follow that you don’t deserve to have what exceedingly attractive people easily get.”

 

Jaime played his arrogance to the hilt and it got the expected response. Brienne’s eyes turned form being bright with unshed tears to dark and stormy. Her swollen mouth pursed and she really was uglier like this. But he wasn’t repelled. Nothing about her made him want to leave or send her away.

If anything, the curl of her mouth and her stern expression were a challenge. He brushed errant locks of her hair away from her forehead, his eyes softening as she suddenly stilled. He watched confusion and suspicion scud across her face. It was sad. She had been so hurt and damaged that the smallest sign of tenderness scared her.

He remembered how she broke down in the offices of Mop Busters after disappearing off the face of the earth for three weeks. Blaming herself for what happened. Det. Targaryen cautioned that this was inevitable. All victims blamed themselves despite never having done anything wrong. His thumb traced the upturn curve of her plump lip, wondering how something so soft had been hurt so cruelly.

“I just want a day, Jaime,” she repeated, drawing breath sharply as caressed her cheek and counted her freckles with his eyes.

“You deserve more than a day.”

She started shaking her head so he kissed her.

Her mouth was turning out to be temptation, the sweetest, most irresistible sin. But Jaime still managed to pull away and sit up. He looked at her. The daylight did not soften her coarse features but he couldn’t look away. The spread of pink from her forehead down to her neck was something to watch. Her tits hardly had a hint of curve but her nipples were tight and turning a darker shade of pink under his scrutiny. The sticky hairs of her cunt, he could feel, tickled the side of his thigh.

“I’ll get you a towel. Do you want something to drink?”

“Water, please?” But she quickly added, “Jaime, I—I can help—“

“For once will you let someone take care of you?”

She flushed and murmured, “I don’t want to be a burden.”

He kissed her quickly on the mouth. “I don’t take burdens and I certainly don’t fuck them. Only maidens.” He caught her pillowy lower lip between his teeth and sucked loudly, wetly. Brienne mewled and he sucked the plump tissue again before turning to leave.

She was flat on her back, staring at the ceiling and unaware of the stoic but enticing picture she made. She was pink all over, her limps in an open, exhausted sprawl. As Jaime put on his shorts, he savored the sight of blood splotched on her inner thighs. It was probably wrong but. . .this was hardly an offense in the growing list.

The decent and right thing to do was to tell her last night shouldn’t have happened, even if it was the rightest thing he had felt after a very long tme.. He had a feeling Brienne would agree but he was a weak, selfish man. If Brienne was convinced that being with him kept the demons at bay, then he was there. He needed her to for she had become the force that compelled him to create again.

This should be a potentially. . .good arrangement. Personal entanglements should never get in the way of the creative process. Being there for Brienne was as personal as it would get. Helping her and making Roose Bolton pay was also personal. That’s as far things would go. He was being an idiot railing against being needed for more or less the same reasons he was there for Cersei. How to solve that, then? Last night felt good. It was the best feeling he’d had after a long time. It still didn’t make things right. However, he refused to pin that it made things wrong, or more wrong.

Brienne huddled in the blankets upon seeing where his eyes fell and he gave her a soft smile. Then he turned to head for the stairs.

He took a small towel from the bathroom, putting it under running warm water. He draped this over his wrist, the glass of water in his hand when he returned to her. Brienne was sitting up, looking like a soft mess with her riot of straw, limp waves around her face, her tired, sleepy eyes and the surly expression that he realized was really her resting face. Jaime handed her the glass and she thanked him. She clutched the blankets to her chest protectively.

“What time is it?” She asked, putting the glass away. She blushed as he stepped out of his shorts and stretched out beside her, holding the towel in hand.

“A quarter to seven, I think. Too early to be thinking of going anywhere.” He said pointedly as her eyes darted toward the window and saw how bright it was. “You’re still not well, Brienne.”

She shook her head. “I have to work.”

“I understand.”

“I already took a lot of time off. Time off that should have gotten me fired.”

“Does that mean showing up before the office opens?”

“N-No.”

“Then what’s the rush? Besides, I can drive you.” He sat up and held out the towel. “Would you rather I do it or you—“

She snatched the towel, cheeks flaring a bright red. She started removing the blankets when she paused and realized he was watching. Jaime’s eyebrow shot up inquiringly.

“I should—maybe the bathroom.” She mumbled.

She really was all of contrasts. A sturdy body encased in the softest skin. A beautiful, supple creamy complexion splashed wildly with freckles. The most vivid, sapphire eyes on the ugliest face. Last night, and just a few minutes before, she begged him to fuck her so explicitly and now she was as skittish as a newborn colt.

“There’s no need to hide, wench.”

She cast him a murderous look and turned away. “Brienne.”

He smirked. “Of course.”

She grabbed the blankets until they covered her shoulders. Jaime stacked his hands under his head, listening to her shuffle and mutter to herself. He frowned when he heard the harsh scrape of the towel on skin.

“Not so hard, wench, or you’ll scrub the skin off.” He said, sitting up and rolling so he was beside her. “Maybe I should do it.”

“No!” Brienne said so vehemently that Jaime was taken aback. His shocked expression made her flush and she stammered, “I’m sorry. I’m—I’m not myself this morning.”

“There is no need to apologize,” he assured her as she put the towel on the table. It was now red and pink. “Brienne, you don’t have to apologize.”

“Why, because I was sexually assaulted? Because I’m being sued?” Her voice cut like glass.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Because if having that happen gives me a pass for everything else, it should be bannered and taught to young girls.”

It would be so easy to demand what was wrong, to accuse her of being unreasonable. But Jaime understood. After Joanna’s death, then Cersei’s, his alcoholism, people tiptoed around him, bent over backwards to please him. He was doing the exact same thing to Brienne.

She wasn’t done. Huffing, her nostrils flaring like a bull’s, “A horrible thing happened to me. I get that people just want to help but the more they do, the more I’m reminded. I feel so dirty and damaged when there hasn’t been anything much going for me in the first place. If I were some other girl, would you be fussing over me as you are? Would you ask her to stay?” She turned the full force of her eyes on him and Jaime caught his breath. “If not for what happened, Jaime. If I still asked you to fuck me, would you have or dismiss me? I want the truth.”

Her sudden anger was rolling in waves. The room was so charged with it that Jaime feared one small mistake would bring in a big boom and destroy everything. His first instinct was to defend himself but he knew where she was coming from so well. It was his life.

“Right now,” he said carefully, “you believe there is no getting past this. That the shadow of this atrocity will always follow you. I know.” When Brienne tried to protest, he shook his head and gently continued, “Wench, _I know._ Believe me. Now is not the time to tell you but I know a thing or two about being haunted. You will never forget. I’m sorry to say. But I swear to you that it gets easier. It takes a long time but it does. You have my word.”

Brienne only looked half-convinced. It was so easy to read her.

“As to whether I’ll treat you as I have other women. . .no. For the simple reason that you’re nothing like them. I fucked them in back alleys, in parks. I fucked them in their beds. I fucked them on the floor of this house. I probably fucked one or two, maybe both at the same time, in this bed. I never asked, never wanted them to stay. I made it clear from the start this was never going to be an option.”

Brienne’s eyes widened as his details got more vivid, more vulgar. But she asked. So she would know.

“You’ve never had any good experience with the opposite sex. You told me. I’d like to think I’m better. Or at least, I’m different. I make a conscious effort to be, wench, because I. . .I don’t want you thinking I’m as terrible as them. There is also much to be said about a man who takes a girl’s virginity and sends her packing shortly. Or perhaps not. Such an abominable creature deserves a good beatdown.”

“But,” she asked, looking scared, “would you. . .if I had asked?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes widened. “Yes,” he had to repeat. “If you’d asked, if you had come on to me, I wouldn’t say no. I didn’t fuck you last night as a favor, Brienne, though that’s clearly what you think. I would say yes for whatever reason you have for wanting to fuck me, again because you are you. We’re also adults and consenting, I like to fuck. I don’t see why I would turn down the honor of being your first.” This time, his eyes narrowed. “If you had told me first instead of being sneaky about it. Why the fuck did you choose me, Brienne?”

She looked bamboozled at suddenly finding herself in the hot seat. She clutched the blankets to her breasts.

“We haven’t known each other for long. Did you want me because you believe I’m some kind of hero? You’re mistaken. Did you think to give me your cunt for breaking Bolton’s face?”

She grimaced. “Don’t be crass.”

“I’m crass, I’m a has-been painter who was famous once, I’m an alcoholic. I’m probably even twice your age. How old are you anyway?”

“Twenty-three!” She exclaimed.

“Why me, Brienne? Because of my good looks?”

“You’re the only to really see me.” She said, biting her lip. “I told you. If—If you. . .you said you wanted to because. . .I’m me. Then that’s why I. . .it’s not like I planned it, Jaime. But why not you?”

She said it so simply. As if she were saying that the sun would always rise in the east and set in the west. As if it was infallible.

“Shit.”

Brienne lowered her head and he quickly realized what she read. “No. Wench, come here.”

She let him pull her to his lap, gasping when he yanked at the blankets covering her so her naked skin was on his. He cupped her face and kissed her roughly, knowing she deserved better but also refusing to let her find out that he wasn’t unique, that there were better men. As she moaned sexily against his tongue, he palmed her breasts, liking the slight, high curves. She hissed his name, tugging at his hair so he was raising his head to receive her kiss. It was rough, but not as rough as his because she still needed practice. A lot of practice.

Jaime’s head was spinning. He loved the smell of sweat and cotton from her skin, relished the taste of her morning breath as it bathed his tongue. He sucked and nibbled on the hard joints of her shoulders and kissed her rough palms. He smirked when she dragged his head down to her breasts, giving him a choice between the pouting, dark red nipples or the numerous freckles splashed around them. As if someone had set a brush down too harshly in a can of red-pink paint and ended up splattering the wall. Accidental art.

True beauty.

He sensed her watching him as he pulled away a little. His touch was reverent, his hands gentle as they cupped her small breasts. They barely fit his palm but he liked their gentle weight. He swiped a thumb across her nipples, looking up as her head fell back, a sharp gasp flitting from her lips. Still holding her breasts, he kissed his way up her collarbones, her throat, until her mouth.

His head hazy with desire, he deepened the kiss, needing to catch and take her taste deep in his throat. She moaned and mewled, harsh sounds that spurred him toward more passion. Growing hunger. In his zeal, he pinched her nipples. Brienne stiffened and buried her nails in the back of his shoulders.

“Please,” she sounded pained. “It’s. . .the left one. It’s sensitive.”

“I apologize,” he said, sounding regretful. He looked at her, hating once again what had happened to her. Why did she deserve so much pain? Maybe that was his purpose. To prove to her pain was not for all time.

She will have to trust him first.

“Brienne,” he kissed her throat. “You trust me?”

She nodded.

He kissed her again and looked in her eyes. “I need you to lay on your back.”

Brienne, so lax and wearing an expression that he hoped was pleasure, stiffened. He took her face in his hands and kissed her. “I need you to trust me. I swear you won’t regret this.”

She was really conflicted, torn between wanting to find out what he would do and still scared. Just as Jaime was about to retract his request, she nodded. Her movements were stiff as she lay on the bed, her limbs straight as if a corpse.

He sighed and leaned over her. “None of that.” He took her hands and draped them on his shoulders. “Touch me. However you like. And. . .if you don’t like what happens, you only have to say stop, okay? No hesitation. Forget about how I’ll feel.”

“I trust you,” she whispered.

“You remember how trust is rewarded, wench? Like this.”

Brienne cried out as his lips wrapped around her left nipple—the nipple bitten and bloodied. Jaime would never know that before Roose, another had hurt her there, sucking too hard and ignoring her pleas that he stop, she didn’t like what was happening. He kissed and licked, suckled the swollen, aching tip, determined to banish every memory she had of the violence brought to her there. He had wanted her nipple in his mouth since the night she stripped before him and dared him to mock her. He was hard and growling as the nipple bloomed to a plump, stiff point while between his tongue and the roof of his mouth. Her fingers were buried in his hair but she wasn’t pulling him away. She moved jerkily, inelegantly, as if possessed by a violent, devastating seizure. Her legs thrashed, her cunt rubbed against his thigh, leaving a damp trail of her desire at every swipe.

She came with a shriek, clinging to him before her body fell limp on the mattress. Jaime released her nipple and was satisfied at the languid, soft expression on her face, the almost-smile on her lips. He smiled at her and crawled down her body.

Brienne was still in the clouds but gasped and hissed when he swept her legs wide apart. Before she could ask what he was doing, Jaime had pushed his tongue inside her cunt. She was wet and dripping from her release. Combine this with his tongue and the room was filled with loud, unapologetic lapping and other wet sounds that made her squirm and blush. As she panted and breathed his name, pumped her hips to his face, Jaime was _remembering._ Lacerations consistent with the forceful entry of fingers. He was never going to forget that entry in the medical report Tyrion somehow got his hands on and shared with him.

He was going to make Brienne forget the pain she felt here. Where she was softest and most vulnerable. She tasted of musk, with a slightly bitter, metallic tang. She didn’t have a sweet cunt but her cunt was hers, only hers and Jaime couldn’t get enough. He pulled back a bit to spread the folds, pleased that her inner lips were slick and pink, coated thick with her honey. Her clitoris stood proud and swollen and he wrapped his lips around it. Brienne shrieked again and it was followed by the loud squish of her release, hitting him right on the tongue and dripping down his chin.

Knowing he had already put her through a lot by asking her to lay down, he hauled her up seconds later. Maybe he should give her time. Let her recover. But he couldn’t resist. Would never. He helped her spread her legs so she was straddling his thighs. As she whimpered and stared at him with sleepy blue eyes, he somehow managed to slide a condom down his aching cock. She was too weak to move so Jaime had to be the one to guide her down to take him inside. She sighed and winced for she was still tight. 

“I’ll never hurt you,” he promised as he pumped up inside her. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye. “Brienne—why?”

She shook her head. “I’m not hurt. I know you’ll never hurt me.”

They were moving carefully—Jaime was sweating from the effort, needing to make this last. For her.

“Why the tears?” he managed to rasp.

“I just. . .I did not. . .I did not think I would be wanted. Not like this.” She cradled his face and kissed him, gasping softly as she tasted herself on his lips, his tongue. She pulled away, blushing, understanding dawning on her face.

_“It is like this, Brienne.”_

Then he brought her hips down, fully embedding himself inside her. He looked deep in her eyes until he saw the light.


	2. A Name for Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne looks at herself.

Brienne had been in this bathroom many times due to her work at Mop Busters. She had scrubbed and bleached every inch, knew intimacies about Jaime that he himself probably didn’t know about. When she was here, she looked for dirt and grime, the trash bin that had to be emptied, the bottom of the sink, the toilet seat, the drain full of hair. This was all she saw—she didn’t even look at the mirror that had received numerous hard scrubbing from her.

She stood in the middle of the room, lost and admittedly, a tad confused. There had been no awkwardness when she was in his bedroom without the Mop Busters uniform; she changed clothes and put her things away as if the room was hers. The bathroom—it was different.

Maybe she felt different because she was different.

_I had sex last night._

Brienne strode to the sink and switched the faucet on. Her motions were brisk as she splashed water and rubbed soap on her face. She straightened up to look at herself red and wet in the mirror. She felt different. _Did she look any different?_

She switched the faucet off, plunging the room once again in near-quiet. A near-quiet because she could hear Jaime’s muffled tinkering in the kitchen. He insisted on breakfast—making _her_ breakfast.

Because he had sex with her.

_Last night, we fucked. Jaime fucked me. I was fucked for the first time last night. By Jaime._

Just remembering—flashes of skin, swipes of fingers and tongue on skin, his cock inside—was doing the strangest things. She felt hot. And cold. Her nipples, sensitive from his kisses, tightened, a hot ache that wasn’t quite like pain—no, it wasn’t anything to the pain following Hyle’s forceful kisses and Roose’s cruel bite.

It was pain but also not. She did feel a little dizzy—the room, she found too bright, the walls too white.

Her skin felt hypersensitive, as if crisscrossed with livewires. The slightest touch would have her flaring up in a golden finish.

She heard the sizzle of oil in a pan, followed by the familiar aroma of bacon steeped in salt. Knowing that Jaime was busy, she started unknotting the robe of her robe. Once loose, she shrugged it off and followed its descent to the floor. Then she bit her lip and looked at herself in the mirror.

She looked a little more awake, less dazed but her mouth was still fuller than usual and very red. Her freckled chest, _her breasts_ , were scratched red and pink. Her face turned red remembering  Jaime. . .Jaime’s _exuberance._ After the first time he made her come (“Come?” She had asked, curious and puzzled. Jaime shrugged, keeping his arm around her. “It’s what it’s called. When you feel like falling then flying again when I kiss you like that, or down there.” “It wasn’t only when you kissed me,” she whispered, blushing. “I should hope not, wench.”), he had kissed her there, and down, and all over, as if he wanted her to be covered in kisses instead of freckles.

And when he had her again, he kept his eyes on her. Even when she was closing her eyes, unable to stand the rapture flaring from between her legs, of their joining, he would _beg_ (“Please, Brienne) her to look at him. She didn’t know why he insisted on looking at her, why he wanted her looking at him. It confused her why he took her again and again. What was he trying to prove? One day, she had asked. Just one day. It was a lot to ask, and one that Jaime seemed to take literally. He looked disappointed when she insisted she had to work, but that was just her imagination.

Brienne dared to look at her cunt. She had never looked there before—she never looked at her body out of self-preservation. She knew she was ugly. There was no way to forget that. She didn’t need to know just how ugly she was. The world never failed to remind her.

Her cunt was a part of her but she was looking at it now with both fascination and a little fear. The hairs were thick and rough, a riot of curls ranging from pale blond to slightly darker. Her face burned as she lowered her hand there. It was almost like having Jaime inside but not, of course. She wouldn’t dare put her own fingers inside her but just touching herself between the folds, introducing herself to the slickness and texture of her, the feel of her, she was remembering. Everything that had happened to her from the first time Hyle fucked her with his fingers until this morning, when Jaime’s cock first entered her. Three times they fucked and every time he was first inside her, she would hold her breath, still not used to the feel of him.

Brienne sat on the edge of the tub and spread her legs. Jaime had a full-length mirror nailed to the door, facing her. She looked at herself there now, ugly and inspecting herself with her fingers feathering hesitantly over her cunt. She was sore, but the discomfort was nothing to what Roose had done, or Hyle. It was pain, what they’d given her. The soreness that lingered between her legs felt. . ..it felt _right._

“Brienne?” It was Jaime, knocking. She squawked and quickly retracted her hand, shut her legs. “Wench, are you alright there? Did you drown in the tub or something?”

Panicking, Brienne swung her legs towards the tub and landed hard on her right hip. “Ow!” she yelped.

“Brienne?” This time, she heard Jaime rattling the doorknob. “What happened?”

“Don’t come in!” She yelled, wincing as she got to her feet. A purple bruise was beginning to form on her hip.

“I’m pretty sure I heard you fall. Unless you have a bear with you and it’s bigger.”

“I’m alright!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

Brienne grunted and glared at the bruise.

“Don’t take too long.” Jaime added. “I have bacon and eggs.”

“Oh-okay.”

She was quick. Rinsed herself, shampooed, soaped. Rinsed again. Brienne found a towel and patted it on her hair. She picked up the robe from the floor and put it on. Spying a hair dryer, she decided to help herself with it. This was also quick because her hair was thin and short.

Jaime put away the newspaper he was reading as she stepped out of the bathroom. “Good,” he said, then pulled out the chair next to him. “Come here and eat.”

Brienne, clutching the sash of the robe, said hesitantly, “Um, I should get dressed first.” Her eyes went to the clock.

Jaime saw this and looked there too. It was a quarter to eight. “You’re not going to be late. Much as I would love to have you aside from breakfast, I can control myself. You’ll have plenty of time to get dressed. I’ll also drive you.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Even if I want to?”

She shrugged helplessly. Jaime, she was learning, had a way of convincing her to let him do things that he shouldn’t. Or didn’t have to. Gods, she had just fucked, had just been fucked, and she could say more than willingly, by the most handsome man in King City, a man who reminded her of gallant, honorable knights of old. This was still hard to believe despite the soreness in her body after the warm shower. Now the same man had made her breakfast, bacon and eggs, no less, and wanted to drive her to work.

She was so used to being a non-entity. People trampled on her. People abused her for their games. Being seen and acknowledged was very new.

“You have to paint.”

“And I will, today. After you’ve come back from work.”

Brienne flushed and muttered, “Jaime, I’m going home after work.”

“Of course.” He said, his voice sounding a little strangled. “But you’re going to come back here for your things, right? I mean, before you. . .go, could you? I know we haven’t talked about the logistics yet, and your payment, but if you don’t mind. . .”

“I don’t mind.” She said firmly, her blue eyes mirroring the promise in her words. “It’s the least I can do.”

“For what?” Jaime asked, this time frowning. “For letting me fuck you?”

She reddened and mumbled, “You know what I mean.”

“Get this through your thick skull, Brienne.” Jaime sounded annoyed. “What happened last night was something we both wanted. I wanted it. _I wanted you._ I don’t expect gratitude or anything that you regard as a return for what is apparently stud service to you.  When you do something for me, it’s because you want to. Not because it’s the least you can do.”

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “I—I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what exactly?”

Brienne shook her head. “I don’t know what to call it. Last night was. . .” this time, her entire upper body flared with embarrassment. “It was really nice,” she added in a whisper. “I never thought I’d have anything like it. And this morning. . .it was nice too. I don’t know how to deal with what comes after. Do you understand?”

“It’s simple. Do you want us to fuck again at some point?”

Her armpits began to sweat. “J-Jaime, come on.”

“No.” Jaime got up and stalked toward her. Even in a worn t-shirt and boxers, he looked very intimidating. “Would you want me again like you did last night? This morning?”

He stopped until he was in front of her. Though they weren’t touching, the warmth radiated from his body and settled into hers. Brienne blinked at him. His eyes had the brilliance of wildfyre.

Brienne was trembling but not from fear.

He put a hand on her cheek and spoke gently, “Brienne, if you. . .if you don’t feel the same I understand.”

“I’m confused,” she admitted helplessly. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?”

“I wish I were better than this.”

“That’s not who you are, wench.”

_“Brienne.”_

“Yes.”

“I—“ She nodded, closed her eyes then opened them. “I—I do want you. Again. If you’ll have me.”

“You want me enough to want us to fuck again?”

She nodded.

“Do you _want_ to pose for me?”

“I already did.”

“Yes.” He smiled, and she thought he looked a little sad. She took his hand from her cheek so she could squeeze it reassuringly. He looked at their joined hands. “I’m never going to forget that.”

“After work. I’ll come back here. And. . .and you can paint me.” She said, stumbling over the words. “And. . .I. . .I hope we can also. . .” She turned away, unable to say the word.

Jaime kissed her hand as if he were a storybook prince. She was no princess, though. As his lips brushed her knuckles, her heart beat fast.

“You want us to fuck afterward?” He asked her softly.

She nodded again, her eyes wild.

Amused, he gave her a quick kiss on the lips. “Relax, wench. It’s only my cock.”

She grinned, in spite of her embarrassment. Jaime, still holding her hand, pulled her behind him a he headed back to the table. They sat down. Brienne noticed that her plate had four strips of bacon while he only had three. They both had two pieces of toast and egg, with the yolk still runny—just as she liked it.

“Do you take juice or tea? Coffee?” Jaime asked and she noticed the carton of orange juice, a pot of tea then another of coffee. She couldn’t help blushing upon realizing that since he didn’t know what she liked, he thought to cover all bases

“Coffee, please.”

He beamed at her. _Who had a smile so dazzling?_ “Excellent.” And she noticed for the first time he had a cup of coffee with him, only half-full. Seeing how dark it was, she deduced he took it black. As did she.

Jaime appeared to realize that she wasn’t much of a talker during this time because he quietly ate his food. This would be awkward for most people but not for them. Jaime was used to quiet meals, and Brienne, even when her father was around, wasn’t used to conversation during this time either.

She offered to do the dishes and to her relief, he agreed. He went to take a shower. As Brienne guided the sponge around the plates, she panicked. Did she flush the toilet? What if she had hairs in the drain?

Finishing quickly, she put the dishes on the rack under the sink and went upstairs to get dressed.

She was zipping up her jeans, holding the bottom of her long t-shirt with her teeth when she heard Jaime coming up. She heard him clear his throat and she turned. _Gods, Seven, fuck._

Jaime scruffy with wrinkled t-shirt, messy hair and sleepy eyes was already half a god. Jaime with his hair shining like bronzed gold, his skin damp, with only a towel around his lean hips was a _god._ The eighth deity, if allowed. Brienne’s mouth fell open, the bottom of the t-shirt falling limp down her hips. He smirked at her reaction and turned to go into the closet. As he did, he made a point of flinging off the towel and baring the firm, high cheeks of his ass. Then he turned back to shoot her a smile that was both knowing and innocent.

She turned away guiltily and finished getting dressed.

She was sitting on the couch, her backpack at her feet when Jaime jogged down the stairs ten minutes later. Like her, he was dressed in a plain white t-shirt, jeans and sneakers. But also unlike her, his clothes were clearly expensive, as evidenced by the cut and fit of the clothes. The t-shirt hugged his broad, muscular chest and the jeans were fashionably slim-fitting. He smiled at her.

“Ready to go, wench?”

_“Brienne.”_

“Yes, of course.” His eyes dropped to her breasts and his smile widened. Brienne pinked, knowing her nipples were still hard and stiff, and straining against her white t-shirt. She never gave much thought to them before but with how Jaime was staring at them, she could feel the heat of his gaze, the ache in her breasts. An ache that can only be soothed by Jaime, she was learning.

Jaime went to her and promptly yanked her by the waistband of her jeans. As her mouth fell open in shock, he swooped in and planted his mouth right on hers. Her response was swift: arms encircling his shoulders, her moan in his mouth.

Brienne was wondering just how much trouble she’d be in if she came to work late because she fucked Jaime again when the door began to open. Neither paid attention to the sound as both were immersed in the heat of each other’s mouth and taste. The person who came in looked at them curiously then frowned upon recognizing whom Jaime was holding. And seemed to want to choke with his tongue. 

“Jaime?” Margaery asked, her voice jerking Brienne from the world she had sunk to. Brienne jumped away from Jaime,  who rolled his eyes and glared at his sister-in-law.

“What now, Marge?”

“I can see you’re busy.” Margaery swept past them, a perfume of coffee and expensive make-up trailing after her. She grinned at Brienne. “Hello, Brienne.”


	3. In the Silence Lies Your Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne deal with their respective confrontations.

Working double shifts at Mop Busters to make up for the time she lost while staying with the Starks, Brienne was more exhausted than usual. She didn’t have to—her job was part-time and she would still be earning minimum wage—but needed to. The promise of attendance at the Marillion was the lone, small fire that she still had. She could live with nightmares, could probably survive the trial. Roose Bolton’s lawsuit changed all that.

As she scrubbed a window in an apartment in a good part of the city, she wondered how much trouble she’d be in if she asked Harald to resume her usual hours. He had given her the extra hours because she was Sansa’s friend and he felt sorry for her. But with school no longer in the horizon and a wrecked cello that just destroyed even when just reminded of it, overtime was no longer necessary. Nothing drove her anymore.

Except maybe sex. Brienne blushed and pushed the rag quite hard into the pail of soapy water, wrung it dry before scrubbing the window again with renewed force. Maybe she wasn’t right in the head to want sex when she was nearly raped mere weeks ago. No, that wasn’t a maybe. She was never going to be right again. Jaime was willing. He had been firm about that. But for how long?

She would always carry that terrible night with her. There would always be nightmares. Did she expect Jaime to never stop fucking her? A man like Jaime Lannister, fucking her for a long time? Brienne only had a few dreams. The one she had was like a sad, deflated balloon limp and torn on the ground after its wayward but happy flight in the sky. She couldn’t ask that of Jaime. Not only was it laughable and insane. It wasn’t something you asked of anyone.

Brienne finished with the windows and went to the sink to wash her hands. Her partner for this shift was Grenn. She liked Grenn—he was quiet and nice. He and Sansa were still dating.

Grenn was dusting and cleaning the shelves, a task that Brienne could easily do but she needed something vigorous and monotonous to do. She needed to process last night’s events, this morning— _Margaery_.

Margaery was nice but something about her smile—Brienne didn’t trust it. Worry was etched on her face that Jaime finally remarked on it during a red light.

“What has you looking like you’ve been sucking lemons, wench?”

“Brienne,” she snapped.

“So?”

“What?”

“Don’t tell me you’re fine. You’re not.”

Brienne squirmed in her seat. “It’s Margaery.”

“What about Margaery?”

“Jaime, she saw us.”

“Yes, she saw me kissing you. If she hadn’t come in—“

Brienne blushed. “Please don’t.”

“We’re adults and consenting.” Jaime declared. “Margaery has no business in meddling with who I like to fuck.”

Well, he didn’t because no one would ever think that Jaime would pick someone like her. Even Brienne thought this. Instead, Margaery was going to pull her aside and have a heart-to-heart. She shouldn’t get her hopes up. She was wrong for Jaime. _I just need him to keep the nightmares away._

“Hey, Brie,” Grenn suddenly said. He made his way down from the stool he was standing on then toward the floor. “Sansa and I are going to the movies later. Why don’t you join us?”

Brienne looked at him. There was no pity in his voice nor hesitation in his delivery. She knew it was Sansa making the suggestion, knowing fully well that if she had talked to Brienne about it her friend would say no. But if it was Grenn, she would be too embarrassed.

“Between you and me, we could probably convince Sansa to skip the Chick Flick Festival,” he continued, giving her a friendly smile. “Come on, Brie. Help me out. I like her but if she drags me to another chick flick I’m going to vomit pink confetti all over the aisle. Please?”

Despite how she was feeling, Brienne was thankful that there was still somebody who treated her normally. “That sounds like fun—“

The doorbell rang. They stared at the door, confused. The owner didn’t tell them to expect anyone and they also knew the owner wouldn’t be home until long after they had left. Grenn gestured at Brienne to stay where she was and went to check.

“Who is it?” He asked.

“Vargo Hoat for Brienne Tarth.”

Brienne froze. She knew that name. Roose’s lawyer. He had gone on TV declaring that she had seduced his client then when things got rough, she cried rape. Grenn was looking at her as Vargo Hoat continued, “Miss Tarth would definitely like to speak to me.”

She shook her head vehemently. Grenn wore a look of alarm seeing that she’d gone deathly pale and her hands balled into tight fists.

“I don’t think so, mister. Besides, we can’t let you ins. We have explicit orders from the owner.”

“Then I suggest she step out.”

Brienne’s hand flew to her mouth to stop the cry threatening to escape. Grenn looked grave. “Look, she’s not going to do that. She won’t be talking to you. I suggest you beat your ass or we’ll call the cops.”

“So I guess she’s not interested in going back to school, is she?” Vargo said smoothly, revealing that he was expecting this response.

Grenn looked confused and so did Brienne. Though she was still shaking, she made her way towards the door. His eyes widened and he quickly put a hand out to stop her.

“Whoa. Brienne, I remember this guy. What are you doing?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“Didn’t he file that fucking ridiculous lawsuit against you? Why do you want to talk to him?”

“I can wait here all day.” Vargo said in a singsong voice. Brienne’s stomach turned.

“Brienne.” Grenn put his hands on her shoulders and gave her a little shake. Dazed blue eyes looked down at him. “Do not talk to this guy.”

“I have instructions from Mr. Bolton never to leave until Miss Tarth speaks to me. And I assure you, whoever you are, that she would be very interested in what I have to say. Or rather, what Mr. Bolton wishes me to let her know.” A pause then, “I can give her everything she wants.”

“What do you know about that?” Brienne demanded, turning to glare at the door.

“The Marillion, Miss Tarth.”

 

After an afternoon in the park sketching whatever caught his fancy, Jaime drove back to his loft. Things felt. . .right. Like something had clicked on and put on permanent play. He was whistling when he let himself in, already looking forward to Brienne’s return. He fancied what blues he will combine just to capture her eyes. They were her most beautiful feature. They looked so wrong on her face yet also perfect.

He entered the building, still whistling. As he was closing the door, he spotted a figure sitting on the couch. The dark pink loafers alerted him to who it was. Eyes veering ceiling-ward first as he prayed for patience, he then trudged toward the couch where Margaery was sitting.

“Out with it.” Jaime groused then looked at his watch. “Seven bloody hells, I’ve been gone since eight-forty-five, Marge. It’s not five. I don’t pay you to sit on your ass.”

Instead of the usual annoyed expression on her face, Margaery looked at him coldly. She pointed at the ottoman in front of her. “Sit down, Jaime.”

This was. . .different. Jaime sat down and regarded her with a squint. “What have I done now?”

“Are you fucking insane?” Margaery suddenly yelled that Jaime jumped. “What the hell were you doing fucking Brienne?”

“What business is it of yours?” He shot back.

“You’re a fucking idiot! That girl—Jaime, you do know what happened to her. You were there! And then you fucking sleep with her? What were you thinking?”

It hit him then. Margaery thought he had taken advantage. Furious at this cruel assumption, he growled, “We both wanted it.”

“No doubt you made her think she wanted it!”

“Bloody Seven, is that what you think of me?”

“What the hell do you expect me to think with what I saw this morning? You were practically fucking her! Brienne is young, she’s. . .she’s innocent. As far as I know she’s never had a boyfriend—“

“No,” he hissed, although he didn’t know.

“You’re a bastard. You know, hard as it is to believe, I’ve always defended you but this is a fucking all-time low. It’s fucking sick. You took advantage of a very vulnerable girl—“

“What the hell? I told you we both wanted it.” Technically, he wanted it first since he sprang a boner but Brienne did not refuse him despite giving her opportunities. She had reached for him. Touched him. _Kissed him._ He remembered her unschooled, too-eager, slobbery kisses.

He was grateful to be sitting down.

“Call her yourself.” Jaime snarled. “She’ll tell you the same thing. That’s if she doesn’t self-combust first. You and Tyrion and Bronn have been on my case about fucking a woman. Well, I fucked one. She wanted me to fuck her. I wanted to fuck her. I stuck to the equation but apparently being presumed a sleaze was not factored in to the solution.”

Margaery was panting, glaring at him as if he was the lowest scum and should be given a long, cruel death. Jaime glared back at her. These people. If they weren’t thinking that he was drinking again, they thought he was. . . _the Seven damn them._

“Even if she spread her legs and begged for your cock you shouldn’t have.” Margaery refused to yield.

“If it interests you, she offered me a hand job.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“And what are you? You’re quick to accuse me of being a foul creature when you know nothing of the truth.”

“Brienne is not well. Do you really think your cock is what she needs right now?”

 _My cock makes her forget._ **I** _protect her._ It hurt that he couldn’t be more, when he knew he could be so much more. Margaery’s insults were nothing but Jaime was a rabid defendant of his name, his honor.

“And what are you? Her protector? Because where were you before I came along? You have no idea what she’s going through. You don’t know how damaged she is.” Jaime had seen it in her wide eyes, her disbelieving face and the tears that shone in her gaze that she won’t let fall. She hadn’t reacted like that when the first time hurt her. It was when he would kiss her or touch her. When she would close her eyes while he was pumping inside her, he begged her to open her eyes. He loved having her look at him. But more important, he needed her to know what was happening to her was real—that he was real.

“She’s alone with nowhere else to go.”

“She has her best friend. The Starks treat her like their own.”

“And who has treated Brienne as she is?”

“What do you mean?”

“You won’t understand.”

Margaery continued to glare at him but she stood up. Jaime remained seated.

“Let’s say that she consented—“

“Fuck you.”

“—is this just going to be an affair?”

“Again, fuck you.”

“I’m trying to save your ass here.”

“I don’t need saving,” Jaime snapped. “I need to be left alone, to live my life. If that means fucking a woman who may or may not be right in the head but begged for my cock, and I liked her too, then that’s what will happen.”

Margaery made a face.

Things were still tensed and with both refusing to yield, they were never going to find a good resolutionto to the problem—or Margaery’s so-called problem.

“I only mean to look out for her.”

“She needs more than that.”

Margaery looked like she was satisfied, for now. She didn’t look like she wanted to skin him alive but she was still never displeased.

“I understand how it is to want to help people. But this. . .Jaime, you can not afford to be caught. What if it was Tyrion? What if it was Tywin?”

“Brienne has nowhere else to go,” Jaime repeated.

_Only me. Only with me._

“Yes. She doesn’t have anywhere else to go. And even when people have the best intentions, they are the ones who inflict the greatest pain. Hasn't she been hurt enough? ”

 

 

Across town, Detective Daenerys Targaryen stared at her captain, shell-shocked at the news.

“Brienne Tarth did _what_?”

Captain Jorah Mormont was grim. “She wants to drop the charges against Roose Bolton.”


	4. Book of the Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into Jaime's past and Daenerys struggling to convince Brienne of a future to hope for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SCENES OF UNDERAGE SEX AND DUBIOUS CONSENT UP AHEAD. 
> 
> AND ALSO AN ENDING WITH SOME GROTESQUE PHYSICAL DISFIGUREMENT.

Dawn will not be coming any time soon. Or maybe the sun had sunk for the last time and would never rise again. It wasn’t darkness that overtook Casterly Rock, but a kind of desolation grew by the hour. It was summer yet it rained nearly every day, soaking the emerald lawn. The violence of the rain tore into the soil, as if to help the thousand souls buried there from the beginning of time to dig themselves out. The grayness of the horizon reminded its residents of hopelessness.

The few times the sun broke out, it felt like a lie.

For Jaime, his twin sister’s mouth under his, her young, soft cunt spreading wider with every thrust of an eager cock—the only part of him that felt alive—being inside her, with her like this, was one of the few truths he could still believe. Cersei’s mouth was soft and wet, like her cunt, and very warm. She was young but her breasts were full and heavy. Losing himself in the frenzy of lust—this was also one of the few things that he knew for sure—he tore his mouth from hers to take one of her nipples. Cersei cried out and he quickly slapped a hand over her mouth. She squirmed, her head swiveling to the sides as she tried to shake off his heavy hand on her. He tightened his hold, feeling the moment she submitted to him. Her arms and legs fell limp and open, as if someone suddenly dead.

He was quick to come. He buried his face between her breasts as he finished inside her. They never looked at each other when they would come. In each other’s bodies was respite from the pain. They were brother and sister, they have always loved each other but knew what they were doing was wrong. It was probably the gravest of sins. In truth, a betrayal under the guise of comfort. Yet what could they do?

Where else could they go?

Cersei was still stiff and tensed. She wouldn’t look at him. Her fists were bunched on the sheet under them. Jaime pulled out and stared dully at her cunt, swollen and coated with thin, soft golden curls. He didn’t like putting his fingers in her because he’ll have to look at her. Cersei didn’t like it either. She found him too rough. Jaime would rather leave and just forget this night, which he swore was going to be the last time, but out of some sense of machismo, he couldn’t leave his sister unsatisfied. So he took a deep breath and pushed his face toward her cunt.

Sometimes, she took him in her mouth. Sometimes, he took her from behind. Their fucking was rough and urgent, pleasurable only for the relief and the escape. But there were no loving caresses, no teasing smiles, no passionate vows. Cersei was whimpering as she thrashed under him. She didn’t like it when he did this either because it was too much but she hadn’t been able to stop him this time. Her slim thighs squeezed at his head before she gasped. Then her legs fell open again. Her hips sank back to the mattress. Jaime wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

As soon as he knew she was alright, he pulled away and headed for the bathroom. He washed his face and gargled her taste from his tongue. When he emerged, Cersei had put her white lacy tank top back on and her shorts. She was curled on her side, hugging her knees to her chest. Her long, golden blond tresses clung to her like a soft embrace. He often found her like this on the nights he came to her room. They had fucked twice tonight—the first time on all fours. They preferred this position because they didn’t have to look at each other.

Jaime looked away and started to get dressed.

“We don’t have to do this anymore,” Cersei said. “Osmund is visiting. We. . .we’re going to fuck a lot.” Osmund Kettleback was her boyfriend.

Jaime nodded and slipped on his t-shirt. “That’s good.”

“Do you think he’ll find out?”

Jaime looked at her over his shoulder. She was sitting up now, looking genuinely worried. There were twin wet spots on her shirt where her nipples strained. He flushed and stared at his feet.

“We’ve been fucking for almost two months, Jaime. What if I move differently? What if. . .what if I’m not so tight anymore?”

Cersei lost her virginity at thirteen. Jaime lost it at sixteen, this summer. To her.

“I don’t know,” was all he could say.

“I know what we did is wrong,” Cersei sounded tearful. “But. . .”

He hung his head. There. _But._ They had no one else. Knew not much else.

“Maybe I should give him a blow job so he won’t. . .I mean, so that I have time to come up with an explanation if he asks?”

“But you don’t like doing it.”

“To you.”

“Oh.”

Done, he got up and turned to look at her again.

“This. . .this is the last time, Cersei.”

She nodded. “The last time.”

It was really innocent when he first drew her. This, what they’d done. . .it was a crime against each other.

“But if he hurts you, you call me, alright?”

He was her brother. Her protector. They never touched each other again, nor did they talk about what happened that summer. The secret grew like a disease in Jaime, filling him with a kind of dread wondering when it would reach his heart and kill him. Cersei never mentioned anything about getting pregnant and he had not used any protection—Lannisport was a small town so if he bought any condoms, word would surely reach Tywin. But Cersei did not get pregnant. Not to his knowledge.

Jaime lost himself in art, using the sleepless night to work on his craft. The discipline honed his talent and yielded returns in the form of wins and early success.

Cersei and Osmund broke up a few years later and a short while later, she met Robert Baratheon. Robert was a rising entrepreneur making a name for himself in the business circles. An added bonus was he was from an old family from the Stormlands, with a family tree that went as far back as Aegon’s Conquest. This was the real reason Tywin encouraged the match despite Cersei and Robert not knowing each other very long. Cersei was swept away by his rugged good looks and charm.

Their summer affair had wedged a distance between the twins that was never repaired. Jaime had no idea how Robert was abusing Cersei until much later.

He found out during Tywin’s birthday weekend in Casterly Rock. The Lannister children and their spouses were all under one roof. A grand celebration was schedule for tomorrow night, but what had everyone really excited was Margaery’s pregnancy. She was six months along, round and pink like cotton candy. Radiant. She looked at Tyrion with love while Tyrion was often kissing her hand. Even Tywin, for once, was smiling. But the reason behind this was more due to Margaery’s carrying twin boys rather than merely the pregnancy itself.

Robert and Cersei have been married for nearly four years but have not had any luck. Because Jaime was too busy teasing his sister-in-law and brother, he didn’t notice the longing in Cersei’s eyes whenever she looked at Margaery. Nor did he see the narrow-eyed disappointment from Robert when he deigned to glance at his wife.

Being back at Casterly Rock, his childhood home, made Jaime anxious. It had not been home since Joanna’s death and he associated the place with memories he wished to forget. The unease plagued him so that he couldn’t paint or do anything else. Just walk it off, or running until he felt like dying on the sands of the Sunset Sea. He was returning from his walk around the estate when he saw it.

The door to Cersei’s suite was slightly ajar. It was enough for harsh voices and teary moans to slip through and reach Jaime’s ears. Shocked, he could only watch as Robert fucked Cersei roughly, taking her from behind.

“Stop,” Cersei was begging him. “Stop, you’re hurting me.”

Robert twisted her hair in his fist, forcing her throat to arch at a painful angle. “Shut up.”

At that moment, Cersei’s eyes locked on Jaime’s. Her lips opened.

He had always protected her but this time, he couldn’t. Or rather, he didn’t. He turned and walked away.

Cersei was fuming one week later. She had stormed to his loft wanting answers. Rage had her emerald eyes regarding him with hateful sharpness. Her ruby lips curled in a sneer as she pronounced his failures, declared that he was not a man.

“You just stood there,” she spat, emerald eyes red with tears. “You let him fuck me like an animal and you did nothing.”

“What was I supposed to do?” Jaime knew he sounded like an idiot. There was no way to defend himself.

“I went to Father.” Cersei sobbed. “More than once. Lots of times. Robert refuses to divorce me. I’ve tried. . .Jaime, he hurts me all the time.”

And she broke right then, crumpling to the floor in a heap of defeat. Jaime knelt to catch her and she clung to him. He brushed strands of her hair away from her face, his heart breaking at seeing his sister so hurt that she had been reduced to tears.

“You should have called me,” he whispered as she buried her head in his chest. Tears spilled on his shirt.

“I loved him.” Cersei moaned. “I loved him and. . .Who would believe me?”

“I do. Gods, Cersei, I’m so sorry for not helping you. Never again. I swear to you. I will protect you.”

There was little Jaime could remember from that night. He remembered holding his sister and wanting to protect her with all the strength he had. His shirt was stained with her tears and bore the scent of her lavender perfume afterwards. He remembered this.

The rest, he couldn’t. Or had done the equivalent of obscuring it with black paint, charcoal, all aids that would erase and hide those memories. He deployed all weapons in his arsenal but there were still moments that refused to go away. Cersei suddenly seeking his mouth. His shock. Her hot whispers in his ear that he must protect her, that he should never leave her. Her hands pushing at him, his shoulders, the surprising strength of her touch because she managed to pin him under her.

Then the cold horror that immobilized him when he realized what was about to happen. He probably said stop. He knew he struggled. “Protect me,” Cersei continued to say, a vicious chant that would still haunt him in dreams many years later, long after her death.

“Not like this.” He was begging her. “Cersei, please. Not like this.”

He was hard but the rest of him was cold, even when her warmth enveloped him. He remained cold  as her mouth tried to force his closed lips to kiss her back. He refused to move or be taken any further in spite of the scratches she put on his chest to provoke him. He closed his eyes, throat tight. This was a bad dream. A dream spun by the most evil hands.

But the floor under him was cold and real. Cersei above him was warm and alive.

Her cry of release was a knife slicing through the thin shroud of his most fervent wish at that moment: that this was all a bad dream.

Little did he know it was just the beginning of the nightmare.

And no matter how far he went away inside, it would grab him by the throat and yank him back.

 

 

The present day

Daenerys burst through Captain Jorah Mormon’s office, coming to a screeching halt at the sight of Brienne Tarth’s hunched figure on the chair. Sitting next to her was Sansa. From the downcast eyes of Brienne’s and Sansa’s frown, the two friends were in the middle of an argument. Daenerys could only hope that Sansa was trying to talk her out of dropping the charges against Roose Bolton.

Sure enough, Sansa gave her a look of relief. “Detective, please talk some sense—“

“I am not,” Brienne growled, “a fucking child.”

“Brienne you can’t do this!”

“It’s my decision.”

“Brienne—“

“Sansa,” Daenerys quickly read the highly emotional atmosphere in the room. She had to diffuse it. “Would you mind if I had a word with Brienne?”

Brienne glared at her. There was a finality in her blue eyes that gave Daenerys a pause.

“I’m not changing my mind. I wish to retract my statement and all the things I’ve said against Mr. Bolton. I have no wish to continue the case or do anything more related to the investigation.”

Sansa was about to protest when Daenerys silenced her simply by raising her hand. “Sansa, please. I need to speak to Brienne alone.”

“This is crazy,” Sansa declared. “Brienne, you can’t do this. Gods, what happened?”

“Sansa—“

“Fine.” Sansa snapped at Daenerys. “I’m going. If I can’t talk to her, maybe you can. Or maybe you should get Jaime Lannister.”

She slammed the door behind her, the blinds hanging behind it swinging violently. Daenerys sat on the chair Sansa had vacated and looked at Brienne.

Brienne seemed to shrink at the scrutiny. She stared at Captain Mormont’s collection of medals and citations displayed on the wall.

“What’s going on?” Daenerys asked gently, to put her at ease. “You gave us quite a scare yesterday, Brienne. Are you alright?”

“I will _never_ be alright.”

Daenerys cleared her throat. “That’s what you think now—“

“Please don’t presume to know what and how I think. You’ve never been in my. . .you don’t know, Detective. This is a part of me now.” When Daenerys said nothing, Brienne turned to her. Her face was mottled red and her lower lips was trembling. “That’s the truth, isn’t it? Even if he’s found guilty, the damage is done. He may not have raped me but it’s almost like he had.”

The words rushed out bitter and angry. Brienne cursed under her breath then looked at her shoes.

“It does take a while for things to get easier.”

“I’ve never had anything easy, detective. You only have to look at me to know what I mean.”

The first time she laid eyes on the tall woman, Daenerys was shocked at how. . .well, she was the ugliest person she had ever seen. Tall, broad, heavily-freckled, bruised with the deadest blue eyes that would probably remarkable if they sparkled, even just once. She pitied Brienne Tarth, already sensing the kind of defense Roose Bolton and his team would build: _She’s so ugly that she would be grateful someone wants to fuck her._ This was what she expected.

Bolton was a dirtier fighter than she expected. First, his team destroyed Brienne’s name in the media by portraying her as a desperate opportunist, a penniless member of a house facing extinction. Brienne’s face being plastered in every publication and shared on social media ensured Roose would have credibility for the claim. His lawyers took it further by telling the media that Roose Bolton was a lonely widower and Brienne Tarth a healthy young woman. When she requested rough sex, he obliged. Things got rougher than she wanted but instead of telling Roose to stop, she thought to cry rape.

It made Daenerys sick.

“For every false cry of rape, a real victim of rape is not given the attention and help she needs,” Vargoa Hoat had said in an interview. “Brienne Tarth’s false accusation makes it even more difficult for actual victims to come forward.”

Bolton’s last move was to file a suit against Brienne. In doing so, the Marillion withdrew their invitation for her audition, stipulating that incoming students were expected to have a blemish-free record. Sansa had told her about this shortly after the ambulance took Brienne away from Goldsun Park. Daenerys was relieved when Brienne finally saw her and gave her statement—a statement that corroborated similar events in a not-so-distant past. The blue-eyed woman looked to be itching for a fight and Daenerys was sure they’d be able to put that blasted Roose behind bars. A pattern had been established of his behavior—enough of a pattern for an arrest warrant. An arrest that was to be made today.

“Briene, I impolore you to think about this. If you retract your charges against Roose, he will remain free. What if he succeeds in raping someone? This is the work we do, Brienne, ensuring criminals are put away forever.

“I don’t. . .I can’t. I just want this to be all behind me.”

“Did Roose talk to you?” Daenerys demanded, figuring out what had in her mind. Not enough but she knew those charges could stick, but primarily because of Brienne.

Brienne flushed. “His lawyer did.”

 _“Fuck.”_ Daenerys caught herself. “Vargo Hoat?”

Brienne nodded.

Daenerys was angry. She had a case. A strong one. Roose Bolton must have gotten wind of it to suddenly have his lawyer talking to Brienne.

“What did he promise you?”

“He didn’t promise me anything.” But her reddening face gave away the lie.

“What did Roose promise?” Daenerys insisted. “Money? In the seven figures? The Marilliion?”

“You don’t understand!” Brienne suddenly blurted out. “The cello was all I had. It’s all I have of my father. It’s broken, I can’t play it, and I can not apply to Marillion because of the lawsuit. I got an offer that everything that had happened. . .that I’ll be compensated generously. But I had to. . “

“For the charges to be dropped?”

Brienne looked at her hands. “Detective, I don’t have much. Music and is where my life is. I’ve been dreaming of coming back to this school—the Marillion. Vargo Hoat swore to me that Roose will make the lawsuit go away for as long as I lay low. That he would also help me get an audition.”

“I understand that this is your passion but Brienne, please. Roose Bolton must be imprisoned. He must be punished according to the law. I can’t tell you the details of another active investigation but you are not alone in this.” Daenerys took her hand and Brienne stared at her.

“You’re not the first woman he assaulted. Brienne, there’s a pattern. Women are coming forward because of what happened to you. You’ve lit the beacon of light. You’ve become their hope, Brienne. Are you so defeated already that you just want to give up?”

“I stand to gain what matters to me.”

“You can go back to school anytime—“

“No. I can’t.” Brienne shook her head and rubbed her eyes. “Detective, this is my last shot. I can’t. . .it’s all I’ve wanted and now. . .it’s been taken from me. Mr. Bolton will ensure I get an audition and. . .money.”

“You mean he bribed you.”

The reddening at the tip of Brienne’ ears intensified. That was answer enough.

“He shouldn’t have done that.”

“Look, if there’s a trial and he gets what he deserves, I will still be left without nothing. No more dreams, no cello, no music. So yes, I look like a fucking idiot but what do I have afterward? I have no relatives. My friends are busy with their own lives. Where do I fit in their lives?” Brienne pointed out. “Music, playing the cello. They are the only things I want.”

“What about justice?”

“Is there?”

Brienne got up so Daenerys did too.

“Detective, you don’t know how it is to have nothing to live for. ‘I hope you never find out’ and please, don’t be careless with your privilege.”

“Brienne you are stronger than this,” Daenerys pleaded. “Right now, as we speak, I’m waiting for Roose Bolton’s arrest warrant. If you drop the charges then everything we’ve done will be pointless—including his former victims.”

Brienne was startled. “Victims?”

“You are not alone in this, Brienne. I promise. I swear you’ll get the justice you and these women deserve that’s why please, please do not give up. Don’t let him get away. Don’t let him hurt another woman, Brienne.”

“H-How? What did he do?”

“I can’t tell you—“

“No.” Brienne insisted. “If you want me to believe that there is hope you will give me something much better than that bullshit, Detective. It’s been almost a month. My name has been through mud and shit, piss. I can no longer sleep unless. . .” she blushed and Daenerys caught a softness in her eyes before they got steely again. “Roose Bolton robbed me more than of the capability to hope, Detective. He took everything from me. He promised to give back some of that if I dropped the charges. I never—I don’t want to drop the charges, you understand? But he offered to have the Marillion invite me to audition. If I can’t have justice, at least I’ll have a reason to live.”

Daenerys was cornered. She really couldn’t divulge any details about her other investigation. But it was the only thing that would convince Brienne to stay on the path of making Roose Bolton pay.

“You will have justice, Brienne. I swear it.”

“When? What else will the trial take from me, Detective? What if we lose? What if—“

Daenerys had to talk over. “Not on my watch, Brienne.”

That seemed to reassure Brienne because she stopped talking.

“I will need your help. I need you to stay here. I need you to re-think this decision.”

Brienne looked like she was ready to bolt but she sat down anyway.

“I will need to speak with my captain first but. . .I promise you, Brienne. Roose Bolton will pay.”

Captain Mormont was not too happy with what Daenerys wanted to do. But he gave her the go-ahead.

Daenerys went to one of the interrogation rooms and opened the door. Daario was taking notes, listening intently to the words of a stout brunette who had a small, soft voice. Daario looked up.

“Det. Targaryen.”

“Det. Naharis. Walda?” Daenerys put her hand on the woman’s shoulder. The woman looked up, revealing the strain in her face. “I’m sorry to cut this short but I need you to talk to someone, Walda. If you could follow me?”

"Who is it?" Walda Frey wanted to know.

"Someone you could help."

Daenerys gave Walda Frey just the barest information about Brienne. Walda nodded, and asked if there was something else she needed to do. 

"Will you talk to her?" Daenerys asked.

"What about?"

"What happened to you." Daenerys requested. "If you could. But do understand that you are free to refuse, Walda."

Daenerys thought that was that. She returned to Captain Mormont's office, where Brienne was still sitting down. When she heard the door open, she scrambled to her feet. She frowned, staring at Daenerys and Walda.

"Who--who is she?" 

Maybe Roose Bolton's victims had a certain quality. Or Walda sensed exactly what was going on. She glanced at Daenerys and promptly unbuttoned her blouse. Despite her thick arms and pudgy fingers, her motions were quick. Brienne stared at her in confusion while Daenerys just stood by Walda quietly, knowing what was going to happen.

"My name is Walda," Walda told Brienne as she opened her blouse. "And this is what Roose Bolton did to me."

Daenerys had seen the photos. She had a strong stomach but the photos of Walda's rape had been particularly sickening. She was torn apart, from inside and out. Even now, with Walda physically healed, Daenerys still refused to look.

Brienne was not so lucky--she didn't know what was going to happen when Daenerys brought the woman with her. But looking at the heavy breasts Walda bared before her, she could see why the other woman felt  words wouldn't be enough. 

For there was no stronger statement than the sight of her left nipple, now a misshapen, twisted bit of flesh that had clearly been torn by Roose Bolton's vicious bite. 

 

 

 

 


	5. His Kind of Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne finds out about Walda Frey.

 

Brienne knew she shouldn’t be repulsed. She shouldn’t even look. But with her still very tall despite sitting down, her eyes were right at the level of the woman’s bared breasts, of which the left nipple, despite having healed, was still a mangled, misshapen bit of flesh.

Sweat poured from all the pores of Brienne’s body, and she felt herself slowly sinking into what could only be described as a pool of ice. Her left nipple had suffered a bite. No flesh was torn off. But because of the nature of her assault, though Roose had not penetrated her, she would still be subjected to tests for the rest of the year to ensure no sexually-transmitted disease or any disease had been transmitted. On account of this bite.

Det. Targaryen looked at Brienne then at Walda. “I believe you could help each other if you talk,” she said, speaking carefully.

“I think so too.” Walda said.

“Brienne, will that be alright to you?”

Brienne nodded shakily, wiping the back of her hand across her cool forehead. “M-Maybe.”

“I will just be outside.”

Det. Targaryen left. Walda buttoned her blouse closed and then took the seat next to Brienne.

Walda was not attractive but Brienne was definitely uglier. Walda’s hair was a limp and thin, more yellow than blond. She had round, cow eyes, and cheeks so fat that it seemed to cause her face to sink down to her shoulders. The sleeves of her blouse strained around her thick, flabby arms and the spaces in between the buttons strained to contain her huge breasts and thick waist. She clasped her hands on her lap and Brienne saw nails nearly bitten down to half, with jagged edges.

“I thought it was over,” Walda began. “I was alive. I had moved on. I have a life, ordinary as it is. Until the day Det. Targaryen came to my shop and. . .” she bit her lip. Her lips were surprisingly small, and looked as soft as a child’s. “The thing is,” she said, “every day I’m able to think less about what happened to me. But it’s there. When Det. Targaryen started asking these questions. . .then I read about you in the news. . .”

She shook her head, unable to continue. Her hair fell in a limp curtain hiding her face so Brienne didn’t know what was happening to her until she let out a sob.

But Brienne didn’t reach out. She still couldn’t get over the disturbing disfigurement on Walda’s breast. And like her, she was remembering that night again. Everything about that night. Her heart was a jackhammer in her chest, and with no Jaime around, she was terrified of dying. That her last thought would be Roose Bolton’s tongue in her mouth, his fingers thrusting painfully in her dry cunt.

Tears pricked her eyes as she remembered what Jaime had done. Was it only last night? He had kissed her there. Kissed her there on the flesh that men in her life had always perceived as theirs and their right to use however they wanted. Jaime had kissed her, over and over. As if to apologize for all the wrong that had happened to her. As if to make her forget and needing her to know only of sweetness and maybe even love. Even if this was not Jaime’s intention, she could read what he did however she wanted. No one was going to take it away from her. Not even Jaime.

“Look at us,” Walda raised a fat hand to brush away her tears. She was looking at Brienne, who had stared off into space, losing herself in memories. She didn’t realize her tears had begun to fall. “Look at what he did to us.”

“He’s taken everything.”

“I’m sorry, but I forgot your name? Did Det. Targaryen introduce us?” Walda asked, blushing.

“My name is Brienne. Brienne Tarth.”

“I’m Walda Frey.”

They looked at each other. What to say? Nice to meet you? What was nice about the circumstances that put them in this room together?

“Why does Det. Targaryen think I can help you?” Walda asked. “I mean. . .we’re both lost here. It will be like the blind leading the blind.”

Shame slapped Brienne.

“I—I thought to drop the charges.”

She spoke looking at her lap, terrified at the betrayal she was sure to see from Walda’s face. It would be a replica of Sansa’s—shock, dismay. Brienne had been angry. What right did Sansa have to look like that, to implore her to re-think her decision? She did not know what it was like to have the one thing she had in a miserable life taken away from her. She had beauty, her family, she had what appeared to be a flourishing love with Grenn. Brienne was alone, with only the cello and her dreams.

Bur Walda did look at her with reproach. If anything, she looked tired but there was also something that could be understanding in her round eyes.

“I lied.”

Brienne frowned. “What?”

Walda looked at her. “I lied. When. . .when I reported what happened. . .I said I was knocked unconscious and didn’t know. . .they swabbed DNA, did the rape kit on me. I was a nanny for Ramsay, then. I didn’t. . .I noticed that Mr. Bolton’s behavior was off but what did I know? Look at me.” She gestured at her portly figure. “Who will believe me?”

Brienne watched her look away and stare at Captain Mormont’s awards on the wall. She wasn’t looking at them. From the soft, strained quality of her voice, she was remembering.

“He asked me to come to his study. He wanted to commend my work with Ramsay—he was just a year old then, I think. I-I was sitting down and he was standing over me. Then he suddenly grabbed me by the hair.” Walda clenched the fabric of her skirt. “He threw me on the floor and ripped my clothes. He did knock me out. I came to because. . .because he had bitten me and there was so much blood. _So much blood_.” A visible shudder went through her.

“W-What happened?”

“I was sent to the hospital. He told me that if I was reported it and identified him, he was going to fire me and never give me a reference. I needed the job, Brienne. I was putting myself through school. The doctor called Special Victims. . .so when they asked, I said I was attacked in my apartment and knocked out. They believed me.”

Brienne could see how much this had destroyed her. But Walda was not yet done.

“Mr. Bolton visited me in the hospital. Him and his lawyer. That godsdamned Vargo Hoat. They had me sign a non-disclosure agreement. Then about a day after, Vargo Hoat returned. He said that Mr. Bolton no longer wished for my services but I will never have to worry about money for a long time. He paid me off, Brienne. That’s how I got money to have my own shop. He paid me off and I never saw him again. The police never questioned me. I thought it was over.”

Brienne remembered. Vargo Hoat. His eyes pale yet sharp as lasers as he laid out the terms of what Roose was ready to give her, should she drop the charges. “He still saw you?”

“No. But. . .the money. . .it’s like he still owns me. That night is still happening. He’s still hurting me. Every time I see how much money I have, whenever I fill out tax forms, everywhere I go in my house, even in my head. . .I’m still there on the floor. Trying to scream and failing to fight him off. Whatever he has promised you, it won’t end things, Brienne.” Walda suddenly grasped her hand. “I promise you. Whatever he told you you’ll get in return for dropping the charges, it will not change anything. He will still be there. In your head. In your life.”

 

After talking to Walda, the air in the captain’s office had suddenly felt hot and sticky. Struggling for breath, Brienne all but ran out of the room, nearly colliding right into Det. Targaryen. The detective was half her size but Daenerys was able to catch her by the arms and prevent her from moving any further.

“Brienne—“ she started to say.

“I have to go.” Brienne gasped. She caught Sansa’s eye over her blond head. Sansa got up from the chair but Brienne was fast, practically flying out of the station. Sansa had to run after all the way to the elevator. Fortunately, the carriage only contained the two of them. The confined, warm space did little to comfort Brienne, however. Her face and neck were red and she was breathing rapidly, deeply. Sansa looked at her with concern. Wisely, she said nothing, realizing her friend needed to process recent events.

Brienne ran out of the station. Spying a bench, she threw herself towards it, ignoring the curious glances of passersby at her strange actions. She heard Sansa jogging after her as she sat down and lowered her head between her legs.

“Oh, shit.” Sansa dropped beside her. As Brienne heaved and tried to steady her breathing, Sansa rubbed her back. “Shit. Take your time, Brienne.”

Brienne breathed sharply, her eyes squeezed shut. Her body was both warm and cool. The ground seemed to be tilting at odd angles, the world spinning. Her stomach was queasy and she couldn’t feel her legs. With every breath, she focused on Sansa rubbing her back, Sansa murmuring soothing noises.

When some semblance of calm returned to her body, Brienne took another breath and sat up. Sansa looked at her, noting her pale skin and her dull eyes.

“Sweetie, what happened?”

“I—I can’t. Not now.”

Sansa clearly wanted to press further but didn’t. Brienne was grateful.

Dear Gods. She had been told Roose Bolton had done this before but she never. . .never in a million years did she think he would take it this far. Discretion, Vargo Hoat had told her, had been his client’s request. Discretion and he would drop the charges against her and have the Marillion open its doors for her to audition again.

Everyone was telling her to fight back. Sansa. Det. Targaryen. The Starks. Jaime. Jaime. But it was so easy for them to say that because they had someone to lean on. Wouldn’t their jobs prevent them from attending court dates? What about Sansa and school? And Jaime—she believed him when he said he was there but for how long? Nothing was absolute in the world. There was no justice.

Wasn’t that the reason for fighting? But how? Did she want to?

Hearing about Walda’s ordeal had been horrifying. It was another reason for more sleepless nights. As if she needed one more reason.

Sansa helped her get up. She wanted to take Brienne home and put her in bed. Forget about going out tonight, she insisted. But when Brienne mentioned she had to go to Jaime to get her stuff and talk to him, Sansa looked at her with disapproval. Brienne winced.

“You were with him last night.”

“Yes.”

“Brienne, look, it’s none of my business but you’re my best friend—“

“It is none of your business.”

Sansa didn’t say another word. But after a few seconds, she said, “I don’t want you hurt.”

“It’s too late.”

She turned to walk away when Sansa called her.

“What is it?”

“It’s terrible what I’m going to do but. . .Brienne, I can’t. I am trying so hard to help you and understand but you won’t. . .you won’t let me. Just look at what happened today. Maybe you’re right. It’s too late to stop you from getting hurt but it doesn’t mean you deserve to be hurt some more. I love you. But I can’t. . .I can’t just watch you do this to yourself.”

Sansa looked ashamed of herself but Brienne was too hurt over her words to take notice. “Everyone tells me to fight. But everyone wants me to fight a certain way, heedless of what’s happening to me. I don’t understand what’s going on either but if you feel strongly you must leave, I won’t take it against you.”

“Brienne, it’s not like that—“

She held up her hand to stop her from speaking further. Sansa tried to touch her but she stepped back.

“I can’t just do what people want of me, Sansa. All I know is I’ve only wanted a few things out of life but it appears I don’t deserve anything good. And you tell me to fight, you, Walda, Jaime but. . .ultimately I’m on my own, aren’t I? You care for me. I know that. But for how long? And if at this stage you feel you must bail, what about when the fight gets ugly? Because I will fight, Sansa. But don’t expect me to fight a certain way. This is still my war.”

“You won’t let me help you. You keep running to that Jaime.”

“Maybe because he lets me breathe.”

They stared at each other for another moment. Then Brienne turned and walked away.

Sansa didn’t call her back.

It took four bus stops before Brienne was dropped off a couple of blocks from Jaime’s place. She didn’t feel the need to rush, knowing he would be there and waiting. Just as he promised. But she still used the key he had given her this morning. She didn’t question why he had a duplicate lying around, nor his ease in giving her a key to his private domain when they didn’t really know each other that well.

She opened the door and the scent of paint and charcoal quickly reached her nostrils. She walked inside and found Jaime hard at work over a sketch. It was a portrait, judging from the shape of the shoulder and the outline of an ear—his broad frame was blocking the rest of it. His back faced her. Since he was intent on his task, he couldn’t have heard her going in.

Brienne turned to head for the stairs when Jaime’s voice startled her. “Get over here, wench.”

“Brienne,” she growled, whirling around. Jaime had turned on his side and was giving her a small smile. She wasn’t sure if there was tension in him—he looked genuinely happy to see her but there was something wary about him too. She got it. She had worn out her welcome. She wanted to kick herself for letting him talk her into coming back here to get her stuff, instead of just bringing it with her to work.

“You’re busy.”

“I said come here.”

He was commanding her but ther was a teasing quality in his tone. Brienne wanted to smile. Just being in the room with him was giving her a lift. Nothing bad would happen to her here.

“That’s beautiful,” she remarked, looking past his shoulder as she approached him. The portrait was a woman with high cheekbones, and a gentle smile. Even in charcoal, she was breathtakingly beautiful. And familiar. Then she realized that she resembled the woman in the photo Jaime kept inside his bedside drawer. The one she saw when she first started cleaning his house.

“Who is she?” She asked as Jaime stepped aside to let her look.

“My mother.” Jaime glanced at it. “Her name was Joanna.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago, wench.” Jaime cast her an impatient look then grabbed her by the waist of her pants again. She slammed against him with a gasp, her hands automatically going to his chest so she wouldn’t hurt him. The blood rushed right to her head as she stared curiously in his unfathomable emerald eyes. Then he caught her chin in one hand and kissed her.

He easily coaxed her mouth open, stroking the corners with lips and light brushes of tongue to encourage her toward a certain manner of kissing. Brienne blushed, for her mouth had simply been open and her tongue heavy and unmoving before realizing what he wanted. She kissed him, returning his soft, playful kisses. With every touch of their lips, the tightness in her chest eased. Every caress on her—her cheek, her shoulder, before settling on her waist—erased moments from today she needed to forget. Her argument with Sansa was more upsetting than Walda’s revelation so she kissed Jaime desperately, pleading with him to make her, help her forget.

Her hand wandered between their surging bodies, quickly finding the hard, long ridge of his cock under his jeans. Jaime grunted and grabbed her by the nape. His emerald eyes were dark as he glared at her.

“Not here.”

“Huh?”

“Upstairs. The condoms.”

Then he was taking her hand and they were running. There was no laughter between them—they were too hot and too tensed. In the bedroom, Brienne kicked off her sneakers and unsnapped her jeans. Should she still be shy? At this hour yesterday, she was still a virgin.

But her maidenhead had been a burden more than a shield. Men wanted to hurt her to brag about fucking the ugliest woman alive, for fooling her into taking off her pants and spreading her legs. Brienne got on the bed, watching as Jaime pulled off his pants and slid the condom on. Brienne looked away, but the image of his cock was imprinted. Gods, he had put that inside her how many times yesterday? She was a big woman. Her size probably meant her cunt was deep but Jaime’s cock was _huge._

She expected him to lie over her. Instead, he dropped beside her and pulled her on top of him. They kissed but Jaime suddenly stopped. He looked at her with concern.

“Are you still sore?”

She shook her head. It felt nothing more than a faint cramp.

“Good.” He bestowed a hard kiss on her mouth. “Sorry, wench, but this is going to be fast.”

She sighed in exasperation and tugged at his hairown. "How many times must I tell you what to call me?"

He smirked. "At least once more, my lady wench. Ready?" At her nod he kissed her on the forehead. "I promise it will be better next time." 

But she was wet, as they found out seconds later. As she held her breath, overwhelmed at the feel of him, Jaime gasped and pressed a kiss on her shoulder. "Gods, yes. _Brienne._ " The latex rubbing against her soaked flesh was making lewd sounds with every stroke. Jaime smiled up at her and palmed her tits under her t-shirt, squeezing them. As Brienne awkwardly moved, trying to find a rhythm she liked, that he would also like, he raised her t-shirt and sucked on her left nipple.

Her sexual history was pretty short but she knew what they were doing was rough. It was rough but igniting fires in her, explosions. Jaime growled that he was coming and wrapped a hand around her nape again, pressing her mouth over his. As her pants hit his tongue, he pushed his hand between them and touched her clit. Something lit up, _there_ , and Brienne shrieked, her nails scratching at his shoulders. Jaime grabbed her hips and stilled them while he fucked her, his hips jerking upward and fast until he groaned. He pulled her head down again so he could kiss her. Despite his release, his kisses were still passionate.

“I thought you were going to paint me,” Brienne said after a while. They were lying in bed and facing each other. Jaime had her hand cradled to his cheek. Every now and then, he would kiss her wrist or playfully bite a finger.

He looked relaxed now, golden and almost happy. Brienne would like to think it was due to her but that would only be a dream.

“That’s what I thought too.” He admitted. “But we really should schedule it.”

“So, when?”

She expected him to say a precise time. Instead, he said, “Always.”

“Always?”

“Yes.” He kissed her on the forehead.

She didn’t know what to make of that. So she turned, taking her hand away from his cheek. She draped the blanket over her like a cloak as she sat up.

“Jaime, I should go home. I’ve imposed on you long enough as it is.”

“You didn’t. You won’t.”

She gave him a grateful look but got to her feet anyway. Jaime saw that she was determined to leave so he got up too. “Right. Get dressed, then. I’ll drive you.”

Brienne knew it was right to leave. She still thought so as Jaime pulled up in front of her apartment. But the idea of having to spent the night alone, of those nightmares coming for her, salivating at the prospect of consuming her mind like the vicious monsters they were—she couldn’t, knew she wouldn’t last the night.

So her voice shaking, she stumbled over the words. “J-Jaime, will you stay? For tonight. I—I swear just for tonight.”

He touched her cheek and she pressed it there with her hand. “Please, Jaime?”

Deep in the night, at the hour when those dreams would descend and seize her in their talons, Brienne was writhing in bed. Jaime was under her, moving just as listlessly, touching her as much as she was touching him, and seemed determined to outdo her kisses.

“Please, Jaime,” she begged. He may have thought she was only begging for his cock inside her and she welcomed it, the fullness she was slowly getting accustomed to. “Please, Jaime,” she whispered again, and again. He tugged at her lower lip with his teeth, kissed her. In between, she kept chanting her plea. Deeper and deeper his cock went, until she realized this was how she would be complete. That with Jaime inside her, she wasn’t so broken anymore. In the dark, with only the faint crescent on the moon shining a light, she sought the brilliance of his green eyes. Jaime cupped her face, indicating that he wanted to look at her too. "Please, Jaime?" 

But she was not asking him to fix her. She was asking him to never leave her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Why didn't Brienne tell Jaime about dropping the charges against Roose?
> 
> Let's all remember that Brienne is not thinking clearly. She's pushing people away, she's on the defensive, she's still traumatized. On top of that, she started an affair with a man who's also going through quite a lot on his own. They may trust each other but they're still testing the waters, too terrified to wade any deeper. 
> 
> With Jaime, he's pretty clear that he hopes Brienne would want him more than just a source of comfort. In the previous chapter, we saw how that got perverted with Cersei. That's still not the reason why he started drinking, but it's going in that direction.  
> ___  
> What does the chapter title mean?
> 
> By introducing Walda Frey, I thought to give readers an idea that Roose Bolton goes for a particular kind of woman. But this could also be read in the context of what Jaime is into when it comes to a woman--he's quite a romantic and vows to protect and fight for her. Another way of reading the chapter is for Brienne to realize that though she and Walda think similarly regarding their appearance, it was not her fault for being assaulted by Roose. Walda will be coming back, so you'll see that as similar as they are, they are also different. Maybe you already have, though?
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	6. Seek Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion and Margaery get a surprise visitor. Jaime and Brienne talk.*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The manner in which Jaime tries to dissuade Brienne from dropping charges against Roose WILL NOT be to anyone's liking. It's cruel and especially insensitive given what happened to her. I ripped off some lines of Brienne's and used them for Jaime's. *

After a long day at work, the best way to unwind was with a glass of the best scotch and the most beautiful woman in King City. It didn’t matter if it happened in the most comfortable bed or sofa. As long as these were together, Tyrion wasn’t going to complain.

He was sitting on a sofa upholstered in jade green brocade, plush and furniture to sink into despite its hard elegance. His short arms were spread to his sides, resting on the pillows flanking him. The room was lit softly, giving an atmosphere that was both intimate and cozy. He opened his eyes and watched his wife’s head moving up and down as she lavished licks in between sucking his cock.

“Sweetheart.” Tyrion gasped. “I’m—“

“Hmm,” Margaery hummed. Tyrion groaned and spilled in her eager mouth. She grasped his cock in her hand while fondling his balls with the other. The combination of her strokes and kisses had him groaning loudly as he emptied himself in her.

As Tyrion recovered, Margaery straightened up on her nose, dabbing the corners of her slick, swollen lips demurely with the tips of her fingers. Her soft, honey-brown tresses hung loose on her shoulders and her eyes, brown and golden in the soft light of the room, were bright with lust. The smile she gave him was both coy and delighted. Tyrion grinned as she got to her feet. Margaery was naked.

Her figure was still slim and very womanly. Her breasts were full and large, topped with pale, wafer-pink nipples. She had a narrow waist that flowed to beautiful curving hips. She kept her cunt waxed smooth, so it was a patch of skin paler than the rest of her body, with a pink slit.

“Ah. There’s the man I love seeing more of.” Though her tone was playful, there was a slight reproach too. Tyrion’s hand on her thigh was enough to get her to sit down next to him. She lounged with the grace and sleekness of a pampered, slim-limbed cat. Tyrion gave her an apologetic look.

“I promise that after this merger I will be home earlier. We’ll go out to a lovely dinner.” He told her, brushing her hair away from her shoulder.

As he kissed and nipped at her breasts, she sighed and spoke. “I don’t need you to do anything to make up, Tyrion. I just miss being with you. We can be looking over paint samples and I will still have fun.”

Tyrion, who had been sucking her nipple, reluctantly released it. “But my lady deserves to be taken out. For the world to be reminded of her beauty.”

She giggled and kissed him on the lips. “The world matters not. It’s only my husband.”

They were kissing when the doorbell rang. Margaery cocked a slim eyebrow, displeased at interruption. She glanced at the clock. “Who comes here at—oh. It’s a quarter to nine.“

“Still a little late for an unexpected visitor,” Tyrion complained, getting up from the sofa. He picked up his pants. Margaery slipped her dress over her head, not bothering to put on any of her underthings. Tyrion grinned at the sight of her nipples pressing against the cotton of her dress.

The doorbell rang again. “Mr. Lannister?” A familiar voice called out.

Margaery frowned while Tyrion sighed. “What’s the good detective doing here now.”

He went to answer the door, Margaery following in her bare feet, breasts swinging. Tyrion tried to convince her to put on shoes but she put her hands on her hips defiantly.

“I don’t like being interrupted. So I’ll show people how we are when we’re interrupted.”

Tyrion smiled. “That’s why I love you, angel.”

He opened the door and sure enough, there was Det. Targaryen. Platinum blond hair looking like it had been combed by her fingers and a distressed look in her face. Margaery stood beside Tyrion and shot the other woman an arched look. Tyrion would laugh if not for what the detective’s presence might mean.

Det. Targaryen was quick to realize what they had been doing. Tyrion’s tousled hair, Margaery looking naked despite being dressed. Her cheeks acquiring a soft pink color, she moved right to business, nevertheless.

“I’m sorry to come here without calling. But I really need to talk to you, Mr. Lannister.” Det. Targaryen nodded at Margaery. “Mrs. Lannister.”

“Do come in.” She said.

“I won’t be long, I promise.”

The detective entered their house. Tyrion closed the door, Margaery still standing next to him. Seeing that the couple won’t be separating, she said, “Uh, this is quite a sensitive matter.”

“I like my wife to be aware of what I engage in. I might need her to save me.” Margaery smiled at him briefly and turned to the detective.

“How may we help you?”

“SVU was over at Ramsay Bolton’s place again just a while ago. We received a distress call. Since it’s an active investigation, I can’t divulge much detail. But I can tell you that Child Services are involved this time.”

Margaery’s hands flew to her mouth in horror. Tyrion looked grim.

“Child Services?”

“But Ramsay Bolton hasn’t been arrested.”

“Why is that bastard free when he’s raped a child?” Margaery demanded.

“Because there was no rape. It’s not what you think. I’m sorry but I can’t say anything more. But I have reason to believe that with this new case, he’s going to do everything he can to convince Brienne to drop the charges.”

Tyrion was shocked. “Why would she do something like that? Jaime witnessed the crime.”

“I spoke with her friend Sansa. Apparently, Roose’s lawyer Vargo Hoat went to see Brienne earlier today during her shift at Mop Busters. She was with a guy Sansa’s seeing. After her shift, the girls went to the station to have the charges dropped.”

“Did she?” S _even Hells._

“I managed to hold her off. For now. But as I said, given the events tonight, Roose will no doubt once again make her drop the charges.”

“Look this is confusing me.” Margaery said impatiently. “What exactly happened tonight for there to be Child Services? I know you can’t give us details but do give us enough to know what we could be dealing with.”

Det. Targaryen looked conflicted before she shrugged. “Alright. Ramsay Bolton, his son, is in the custody of Child Services right now.”

“This is getting worse and worse.” Margaery told Tyrion.

“There appears to be a pattern. That’s all I can say. That’s why Child Services had to be involved. To protect the boy. Mr. Lannister, I don’t believe I’m enough in convincing Brienne to stick with the charges. I know that Roose has filed a lawsuit against her and it’s upset her chances with the Marillion. This is a man who has to be behind bars or else he will poison those around him.”

“Then why are you talking to me?”

“Your brother. Jaime. I have a reason to believe that he and Brienne are close. And she trusts him.”

Margaery cleared her throat and shifted her weight. Tyrion and Det. Targaryen looked at her.

“What is it?” Det. Targaryen asked.

“This is none of my business. And I yelled at Jaime about it. But I don’t want him thinking I ratted him out.” Margaery said defensively.

“What are you talking about?” Tyrion demanded.

“I walked in on them this morning.”

“Them? Them who? Jaime? And—oh.” Tyrion looked like he had been hit on the head.

A lot of things suddenly made sense. Jaime’s near-manic protectiveness towards Brienne. His unease when he didn’t hear from her for almost a month. Tyrion thought his concern was simply because Brienne was his unexpected muse and Jaime needed to get her back on her feet so he could plot his return to the art world. His brother was a practical man, certainly not inclined towards romance, let alone sympathy for a lot of people.

“I assumed a much.” Det. Targaryen said.

“We’ve been practically pimping out my brother. Why did you yell at him?” Tyrion asked Margaery.

“Look, I know he’s your brother but he’s got baggage. _Serious baggage_.” Tyrion grimaced at her emphasis. “Brienne’s a nice, sweet girl. And she’s going through Seven bloody hells. You think Jaime should be the one holding her hand?”

 

 

They found a pack of emergency candles under the sink. Brienne found a small, plain glass and this was where the candle found a home. A lit match flared in the dark before it was fed to the candle’s wick. It wasn’t very bright but it would do for the atmosphere Jaime wished to evoke.

It was warm in the studio so a window was open to let the night air inside. There was no way to filter noise from the cool wisp of air, and it didn’t really detract from the mood. Far from it. Candlelight and scrambled eggs worked when you were with someone. . .someone who felt right.

Jaime smiled at Brienne. She was studiously chewing her share of the eggs, avoiding his gaze. Even in the dark her face was red. She looked deliciously tousled with her messy hair, swollen mouth and rumpled t-shirt. She was blushing because his eyes wouldn’t leave her, and also because he refused to remove his hand from the warm place between her thighs.

He had to be careful with Brienne. She had been a virgin just one day ago. Before that, she was sexually assaulted. Given how skittish and nervous she was, he assumed that she wasn’t completely unbesmirched. She had been touched, most likely wrongly and definitely not in a way she liked. It made Jaime even more determined to erase every memory of everyone who did her wrong. Break their teeth, for starters. Except for Roose Bolton. Him Jaime would enjoy flaying slowly.

“Are you sure you don’t have to be anywhere?” Brienne asked him.

“Wench,” Jaime couldn’t help being impatient. “If I had to be, I’d still be with you.”

“But are you—“

“No. So your invitation saved me from a boring night with just my hand for company, if you know what I mean.”

Brienne ducked her head and shoved more food in her mouth.

Jaime watched her, his expression intrigued but the gears in his head were busily working. Outside of Brienne’s issues and the dirty talk when they were fucking, they had not really talked. He squirmed in his seat. He liked Brienne. He was drawn to her. But there wasn’t much he knew about her.

“So, ah,” he cleared his throat and she looked at him. _Damn those fucking sapphires. You never lie when they look at you. They’re like torture._ “How was your day?”

Jaime knew how to pick up women in a bar and conduct enough conversation to get them to come home with him and spread their legs. He and Cersei had never really talked—not after that summer affair and especially not after she forced him to have sex with her that last time. He argued with Margaery. No, he had never really had a conversation with a woman. Sex and more sex, that was all he knew.

And how many times had he and Brienne fucked since last night?

It was also difficult to talk to her because of what had happened. And there were a number of topics he couldn’t broach right now. Tarth was a no-go at the moment. Her Dad too. Also growing up. Music was out too, until further developments. Dating—that was a laser field.

As for him. . .what could he say? He was a man close to forty. An ex-alcoholic seven years sober. A former successful painter. Sister-fucker.

Brienne squirmed in her seat too and she flushed. Jaime knew he should remove his hand from between her thighs but he was selfish.

“I—I went to police station today.” She was speaking to her plate of eggs.

Jaime fought to remain relaxed. “Det. Targaryen sent for you?”

She shook her head.

“What is it?”

The muscles of her thighs clenched and Jaime, who had been caressing her absently, gave her an inquiring look. Brienne was resolved to have her conversation with the eggs, though. He stilled his touches but still refused to remove his hand from her person.

Finally, she gave him her eyes. In the candlelight, they were sapphires edged with gold. Big and. . .unsure. There was something. . .timid about how she had her shoulders hunched, looking at him, then at the eggs, then back. The eggs again.

“If I didn’t know how handsome I am, those eggs would make me very insecure right now.” He said, trying to lighten the sudden heavy mood in the room.

Brienne’s shoulders slumped. “J-Jaime. I—I don’t know if you know how important music is to me. It’s what I have. _All_ I have.” When her eyes lifted to his face, they remained there at last. “When I found out about the Marillion. . .it. . .it’s like all the broken pieces of myself that I was holding. . .I couldn’t hold them anymore.”

Jaime removed his hand from her thighs to pull her in his arms. Brienne sank against his chest heavily. He had to struggle a bit to keep her up and hold her but he managed.

“Jaime, I went to the station to have the charges dropped.” She whispered against his neck.

“What?”

“I—I went there to have the charges—“

Jaime pushed her away from him by seizing her by the shoulders. Gripping them, he forced her to look at him. His eyes were wild and his expression dark and murderous. “I heard you the first time. I asked to make sure you actually fucking did _what_?”

“Mr. Bolton’s lawyer. Vargo Hoat. He said if I dropped the charges they’ll help me get into the Marillion. Among other things. Jaime, please understand—“

Jaime couldn’t believe her. “I can only imagine what you’re going though. But I do know how it is to lose something that is part of you, Brienne. You don’t just fucking lay on the ground and give up!”

“I have nothing else!”

“Me!” He suddenly roared, making her jump. He tightened his hold on her shoulders. “What about me? What about last night?”

“Jaime, you don’t owe me anything.”

“What the fuck am I? _Who am I to you_?”

“Please—“

“No. Brienne. Answer this. Because you. . .you can’t do this. Fine. If I’m just somebody you fuck, somebody at your beck and call, that’s me.” Jaime felt like he was willingly cutting himself into pieces with those words. “But you can’t. . .you would have been raped if I hadn’t come back for my blasted watch. Do you realize how close you came? And you’re going to let this bastard walk away for a godsdamned admission?”

Brienne lowered her head. She was trembling.

“Don’t.” Jaime begged her. “He should pay. He has to be destroyed.”

She shook her head. “I’m no one, Jaime.”

He saw the light flee from her eyes, replaced by defeat. He let her go. He should leave but he couldn’t make himself do it.

“How do you even know they’ll fulfill their end of the bargain?” When Brienne didn’t answer, Jaime spat, “You’re fucking stupid, you know? You’ll trust the word of a man who was going to shove his cock in you whether you wanted it or not. You’ll believe this fucking piece of shit who mauled you in the press.”

He was so angry at her. He was not angry with her not factoring him in her life. He wanted to beat her for giving up, for letting a criminal get away. He wanted to yank her hair and yell at her for treating what happened as a mere skirmish and she only got a teeny scratch. Fuck her.

“I—I haven’t done it but—“

“But you intend to.”

“I can’t fight him on my own.”

“What about your friendship with the Starks? Aren’t they related to the police commissioner?”

Brienne didn’t answer.

“You’re also fucking a Lannister.”

“Don’t describe it like that!” She protested. There were sparks in her eyes.

“Why? I ask you about last night, about who am I to you and you don’t answer. You’ve shown me your self. You had me there with you while you were getting treatment from that bite. You ask me to stay with you, to protect you. But you don’t see my anything more beyond that, do you?”

“Stop! You don’t—you don’t owe me anything!”

“Stop pushing me away!”

“Why?” Brienne yelled. “Why are you here? Who am I to you for you to be here when I ask?”

Jaime started to answer.

But nothing came out.

Brienne rubbed her eyes and ran her fingers through her hair before resting her forehead on her palms. “All my life I’ve been told I was garbage. And then you came along. . .you’re honest. You see me and you’re one of the few to be not repulsed. Why do you come when I ask? We haven’t known each other for long. We don’t know each other.”

Jaime refused to yield.

“What we know of each other is what matters.”

Brienne huffed and raised her head to look at him. “Which is what? Me a victim of sexual assault and you a former alcoholic?”

“If you notice, people have been treating you with kid gloves. I fuck you. I call you ugly. I just called you stupid. You know what I am—“ _At least, what I’ve told you_ – “and you don’t treat me like I’m some ticking bomb who’ll lose all those seven years of hard work by just having a whiff of beer. Right now, at this point in our lives, wench, this is who we are. But we are more. We are more as long as we don’t just give up.”

“You make it sound fucking doable.” Brienne grunted. “And fuck you for calling me stupid.”

“Someone has to for you to bare some claws. Next time there better be teeth too.”

Brienne continued to glare at him.

“I’ve been through dark days, wench. Sometimes, I forget there’s even the idea of light.” Jaime was speaking softly so that Brienne would listen closer. It worked. He decided to be brutal. It seemed to be the way to get her to fight back.

“You have a taste, one taste of the real world, where people have important things taken from them. And you whine, and cry, and quit. You want to fucking quit.”

“I was nearly raped, you bastard.”

“Good that you remember. I thought I was the only one.”

Brienne shoved her chair back to stand. Jaime shook his head.

“I’m not leaving until you see sense, Brienne. And I’d rather you not leave either. For the simple reason that I care for you and if outlining to you how stupid it is to take that fucking deal is how you’ll understand, I’ll do it. Even if you’ll hate me afterward.” He caught her stare and held it. “Even if you won’t have me in your life when I’m done.”

“You paint. It’s a part of you.”

“Yes. And for a long time I thought I would never paint again. Until I saw you lumbering in the park, your giant head smacking on the trees.” Jaime was glad when her stiff body eased and she relaxed in her seat. “I was going to give up. Then I saw you.”

“Wouldn’t you do anything in your power to get back to painting?”

“You don’t think I tried to have you found? If Bronn didn’t have that annoying dog with him that day, I never would have seen you again. And Tyrion and Margaery would have sat me down about drinking. I wasn’t. But I saw it in their faces. They thought I’ve relapsed. But that’s not. . .that’s not really terrible. Not yet.”

“What could be worse than struggling with an addiction and people never trusting you?”

“Lots of things. Depending on circumstances.” Jaime felt his heart tense. His chest was tight. “You’ve never betrayed anyone, have you? I’m sure of it. Your eyes will always give you away.”

“N-No. I don’t think so.”

“Betrayal is the worst thing you can ever do to someone, Brienne.”

She stared at him. She was confused.

Jaime clenched his fists.

“Maybe you’re right to think nothing more of me as someone you fuck.”

“No. That’s. . .that’s not who you are to me. I swear it.”

She saw his fists and looked confused again. But she put her hands on them. Her fingers were calloused from playing, and her palms rough from labor. Yet they were more soothing than silk. Jaime watched her pry his fingers open until she could put her hands entirely over his and hold.

“You touch me like I’ve never done anything wrong.”

“Because you really have never.”

_This is where I lose her._

“We don’t know each other.” He reminded her. “We know each other in a certain way. We are more than that. And sometimes, what’s more about us is something we’d rather not be known.”

“I-I don’t understand.”

Jaime stared at their joined hands, knowing that this will be the last time such purity will be in touch him.

“Brienne, I said. . .betrayal is the worst thing you could do. To anyone. I betrayed someone.” He searched her eyes, and saw himself reflected in her sapphire pools. “We betrayed each other. Willingly.”

“How is that possible? Who is it? Tyrion?”

“My sister.” Jaime choked over the words. “Cersei.” He had not spoken her name out loud in years—not like this.

“Your sister?”

He had set the stage. He was never going to back out.

“I fucked her.” Brienne looked startled. Filled with loathing, Jaime twisted the knife in his gut even harder. “My sister and I fucked each other.”


	7. To Save You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated in so long because, you know, life. I'll try to post another update this week. Thank you for reading and commenting!

Brienne wanted to lose herself in the darkness of the park. At this time of night, quiet and still, it was the kind of sanctuary she needed, where she could breathe. But she wasn’t so careless so she remained walking on the streets. Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot. She didn’t see the blinking lights from the open shops and bars she passed by, barely noticed the people she brushed past.

After walking for a long time, she found a bench at the bus stop and sat there. It seemed she had shut off her senses because once settled, everything came whooshing back. The blast of headlights, traffic lights, even light bouncing off the sequined dress of a young woman walking arm in arm with her friends. The growl and sigh of the bus stopping in front of her, the impatient honking of a cab. She had only put on a t-shirt and sweat pants, old and threadbare. Her skin was sticky with sweat and now felt cool in the night. She picked up scents and flavors, the remaining hint of the sun and the cool bath of the moon.

Jaime had fucked his sister.

He and his twin sisters were lovers.

She was the last person to judge but the shock remained. How? She had managed to ask, ignoring the squeak in her voice. Why? That was more important. Why? Jaime, who had always been so sure of himself seemed to shrink before her eyes. She wanted to reach for him but couldn’t. Perhaps she had judged him, after all.

Whatever courage there had been that pushed Jaime to tell her this seemed to have left him. He spoke of his mother’s death. That was how it began. They had nowhere else to go and the grief was too much. They needed to forget. Had to protect each other. What did they know? They weren’t so young but still innocent. They knew enough that it was wrong to kiss family as they had but it didn’t stop him from fucking her, nor her from spreading her legs. She took his cries. He carried her tears. His twin sister. Seven hells.

Why tell her this? What for? Brienne would like to think they were friends. They must be, with what they’ve done and how he had saved her. If they couldn’t be any more outside of the bedroom, at least they must have some kind of friendship. What did you call somebody who saved you repeatedly? Protected you from nightmares?  A knight? No, she would rather have a friend. She was in desperate need of them being that she and Sansa had probably parted ways for good.

How was she going to. . .gods, she didn’t even know what to do! Has it only been a day? As of this time last night, she was fucking Jaime. Fucking him and feeling good and normal. She had felt normal. And then morning came. Vargo Hoat. Walda Frey. Daenerys Targaryen and Sansa, Grenn, all of them telling her to be stronger and pursue the case. How easy for them. What had they lost? As she thought of loss, she remembered the cello case tucked in the corner, unopened since she saw its cracked, irreparable face. Maybe it was just as well the Marillion was no longer interested in her. She couldn’t afford to buy a new instrument and go to school at the same time.

It hurt. It was a knife to her soul and twisting ever deeper. Roose Bolton may have scarred her body forever and would stalk her in dreams. But to no longer play—she could feel herself beginning to die. And Jaime couldn’t keep all of her together. She couldn’t ask him that and shouldn’t—not when he had carried a burden of his own for so long. The longer they held on to each other, the faster they would plunge into the abyss.

 

Jaime could only stare at the severe damage on the blue cello.

He didn’t stop Brienne when she gasped and hastily scrambled into clothes after telling her about Cersei. He understood her need to get away—if he were in her shoes, he’d probably run away as fast as he could. Who wanted to be around someone like him—a sister-fucker. A willing sister-fucker. So he just watched her blindly put on his t-shirt and jump into sweat pants. She tripped on her way to the door. If they were a normal couple, he would tease her for going out without underpants. But they were not normal. They were not a couple. They were two broken people looking in each other pieces to feel whole again.

When he saw Brienne getting mauled and forced on the floor by Roose Bolton, he reacted as anyone would have. He fought her attacker, defended her, protected her. It had given him a purpose, being somebody to someone again. Being a brother, an uncle, a son, they were not enough anymore. Since Brienne had literally walked into his life, he could. . .he couldn’t describe it. Something switched on and everything was so clear. He could draw again. Maybe not as good but he was still that artist. And when she turned to him to the hospital, he knew he would protect her no matter what.

A good intention doomed from the moment he saw the blueness of her eyes and found all of him stirred at the sight of this ugly maiden. An ugly maiden. Who would have thought. But he looked for her and once he knew who she was, made sure he was going to be in his life. Before, he chalked it up to his cock desperate to fuck any hole for as long as it was female and wet. That ended the night Brienne was assaulted. He still found her intriguing but couldn’t think about her sexually until yesterday.

Cersei came to him with tears and anger, raging at the pain of losing their mother. Brienne told him he kept her bad dreams away. Neither had obligated him to respond but only Brienne had asked, hesitantly. It was seeing her doubt and flustered that had him hard in an instant. He got off on protecting maidens, it seemed. At least, he thought so at first. Though there was that niggling thought already if he was willing to be just somebody for Brienne to keep nightmares from seizing her. He declared himself ready to be whatever she needed, whenever she wanted. It was painful seeing her so alone despite the Starks and Sansa. But he was the pathetic one, latching on to being a dream stud if there was no other space for him in her life.

Then she had to tell him about having second thoughts in pursuing the case against Roose Bolton.

It was like a dam broken inside of him. He could deal with Brienne breaking his heart. He couldn’t accept her being the hand to destroy herself by dropping the charges. He had seen the doubt and fear in her eyes, heard the resignation in her voice as he demanded the exact details of her talk with that fucking Vargo Hoat. Jaime had been the angriest when Cersei forced herself on him, hating himself for being unable to stop her. Brienne accepting defeat before the first battle had him roaring and shaking her. He wanted to beat her for giving up so easily. For thinking to just let the crime done to her be swept under the rug in exchange for music. He didn’t care that her playing moved his heart. He knew that once she took that deal, whatever power she had from the moment she struck the bow across the cello would be gone. He couldn’t let her hurt herself like this.

He stared at the shattered cello. It was like seeing Brienne utterly broken. Its blueness was a close match to her eyes, and it was long and formidable, crafted for strength. He ran his fingertips on the fissure, picturing what must have happened: Brienne putting away her cello then Roose coming up and hitting her. He remembered the purple bruises on her jaw, the mark of his knuckles on her abdomen. It was enough to make him choose violence all over again. Violence to keep her safe.

_“Wouldn’t you do anything in your power to get back to painting?”_

He would erase those years, if he could forget the sound of Cersei breathing in his ear and reminding him to protect her. The alcohol was a temporary shroud. But if not for them he wouldn’t be here. In Brienne’s apartment. With Brienne.

With her, alright. Seven Hells, why did he have to tell her about Cersei?

Someone buzzed. She forgot her keys. Jaime pushed the button on the wall. “You’re back. I was beginning to worry.”

“Jaime?” Tyrion demanded. “What the hell are you doing there?”

Fuck. Jaime grimaced then pressed the button again. “What do you want?”

“Where’s Brienne?” Margaery asked. “Why are you there?”

“Let us in. Maybe this will be better with the three of us.” Tyrion said.

“Tyrion, I don’t want us to overwhelm here.” Margaery said.

“Who would you rather talk to her? Det. Targaryen? No, Brienne needs to hear it from someone who knows her more than as a statistic.”

“She’s not a fucking statistic.” Jaime snapped. He pressed the button again and heard them shuffling away.

He helped himself to one of her t-shirts—a plain, v-neck that was a little too low for him. He fixed the bed even if it was useless to—Margaery knew about them already and she had definitely told Tyrion. Still, Jaime would like to think he could still be discreet. He found Brienne’s plain blue panties and stuffed them in his pocket just as somebody knocked on the door.

Jaime opened the door and tried not to make a face. Tyrion was in a t-shirt and jeans and Margaery in a sleeveless top and slacks. They looked decent enough for a night out but there was no denying the just-fucked look on their faces. Tyrion also smelled of his wife’s perfume.

“Why are you here?” Jaime asked.

“The million dollar question of the night,” Margaery retorted as they entered the studio.

“We had a visit from the good detective.” Tyrion said, raising his eyebrow at Jaime’s t-shirt. It was yellow. He was quick to notice the snuffed candle on the table and the empty plate and two pieces of forks. “Is it true Brienne is thinking of dropping the charges?”

Jaime nodded and shot his brother a warning look. He turned away to put the plate and utensils in the sink.

“Is she still thinking of doing that or have you managed to convince her otherwise?”

“She wants to go to school. What do you think?”

“The police were over at the Bolton’s a couple of hours ago.” Margaery said. “Det. Targaryen won’t say what exactly happened but Child Services took away Roose’s son.”

“If he fondles the boy, I’m not surprised.” Jaime said, turning around to face him and leaning his hip against the sink.

“No, that’s not what happened.” Tyrion clarified. “But with this case against Roose right now, Brienne would be making a mistake if she drops the charges. He’s a fucking maggot and deserves to be crushed.”

“Look, I’ve been trying to convince her but it’s not working.”

“What’s the matter?” Margaery snorted. “Fucking getting in the way?”

“Marge,” Tyrion grasped her hand as Jaime’s jaw tightened.

“So you’re here to convince her? Good luck. The damned wench is as stubborn as a mule. Besides, what’s your agenda? You don’t know her like I do.”

“No, we don’t know her. But you care for her.” Tyrion pointed out. “And what happened to her. . .Jaime, she can not let that pass.”

“She’s made up her mind.”

“Then make her change it!” Margaery exclaimed. As the Lannister brothers stared at her, she crossed her arms. “I know Brienne longer than you two have. We’re not friends but I have some insight into her. If what’s making her drop the charges is the promise of school, then you’re going to have to give her something better.”

“What? Sapphires? Diamonds? Brienne is the only woman who will kick my ass for giving her those.”

“Put yourself in her shoes. Music is important to her. It’s all she has. I know she’s an orphan. She has friends but outside of the Starks and my grandmother, there’s no one else. The Starks are related to the police commissioner but all he can really do is ensure Brienne’s guarded. She doesn’t want to drop the charges but she has no choice. And we’re all talking to her as if it’s easy.” She spoke to Jaime then. “Has she talked to anyone about that night?”

“Not to my knowledge. With me, but only a bit.”

“With the charges there will be a trial. Do you know what will happen? She’ll have to recount what happened over and over again. Over and over again. The prosecutor would want her to clarify parts, ask for more details. Bolton’s defense will make her question what she remembers. She’ll be reliving that night, over and over, with every question.” Her mouth was in a straight, grim line. “It’s like getting assaulted over and over again. And she has no choice.”

Jaime agreed. And with a man like Roose Bolton on the defense, his team would rip Brienne apart. Hyenas salivating over fresh meat.

And there was no way to protect her from that.

“Can you blame her for wanting to drop the charges? And who will be there for her on every day of the trial?”

“Me.” He spoke as if this was a priori.

“But who are you to be there for her like that?” Margaery asked. “What about you painting? A trial goes for hours, Jaime. Hours you’ll lose when you could be painting. Lost hours you’ll resent her for.”

“How big of an asshole do you really think I am, Marge? Let’s have it out. Right now.” Jaime growled but Margaery wasn’t intimidated.

“I’m telling the truth.”

“Brienne has a case, Jaime.” Tyrion said. “She has friends in high places but not high enough. Why do you think Bolton’s lawyer sought her out? He knew his client committed a crime. But if Brienne won’t go away, then he’ll be tried. If Bolton had gone after someone. . .I’m not saying he would but. . .let’s face it. Brienne is a nobody and that’s why Bolton is going after.”

As the truth of Tyrion’s words sank in, he asked quietly, “Where is she, Jaime?”

 

 

Brienne was surprised to see Jaime hanging out in front of her building. She quickly felt for her keys and froze. She didn’t have pockets. Jaime, who had already seen her, went to her.

He was dressed in her yellow t-shirt and his jeans. There was a wild look about his eyes and he was flushed and a little sweaty. She wondered if aside from alcohol he also did drugs. What happened to him could drive even the sanest, most stable person to drink. But she was still reeling from it. She hoped to Seven Heavens Jaime wouldn’t tell her more about it for now. It was too much. Her head might explode.

“What are you doing out?” She asked. “Did you lock yourself out?”

He shook his head and held out her ring of keys. “Sorry but I had to look in your purse to get them. Brienne—I need---we have to talk.”

“I know. Oh, Jaime—“

He put a hand on her cheek, stilling her. As she blinked at him wordlessly, scrambling for something else to say, he said, “Tell me the truth. What we’ll be talking about hinges on your answer, wench.”

“Brienne. How many times—“

“Do I disgust you?”

He had fucked his sister. Willingly. Brienne should be repulsed. She was still shock but she knew too well the kind of things grief made the person do.

So very slowly, she shook her head.

“You think I’m despicable?”

“N-No.” Her voice sounded gravely. “Jaime, no. But I—“

“Why not?” The hand on her cheek moved to her nape.

“Do you think you’re hateful?” She whispered.

“Nobody forced me to fuck my sister.”

“You weren’t thinking straight—“

“On the contrary, wench.” He said bitterly. “We both knew it was wrong. We were grieving but we knew. We knew and we still fucked that summer.”

“Jaime, what do you want?” Brienne asked, tired from the interrogation he was subjecting her to. Her feet hurt and she was just tired from this day. Even her heart was beating too slowly, too softly.

“Actually, it’s what you want.”

“What do you mean?”

“You want to return to the Marillion?”

Brienne was helpless. “Yes. To audition. I just want a chance. But you know that they rescinded—“

“No. That decision will be overturned. I promise you.”

She stiffened. “What did you do?”

Jaime ignored her question. “If you could audition without Bolton’s intervention, would you pursue the case?”

 _“Yes.”_ This was the truth. And to Jaime, she would never lie. 

“How badly, Brienne?”

“With. . .” she swallowed as he started caressing her nape, stroking the left line of her face. “With my life, Jaime. That’s how much I want it. I want it with my life.”

“You have my word that I’ll never begrudge you for putting me second.” Jaime’s hand slipped from her and she quickly thought of snatching it back. She would never be disgusted with Jaime. She would never think ill of him. As much as it revolted her, the idea of a brother and a sister, twins, fucking each other, she could understand where it came from. She knew about loss way too well. Loss meant pieces of yourself you will never have again. Loss the emptiness in your heart because death had taken everything away.

“Putting you second—I don’t—what’s happening? You’re making me confused.” Her head was spinning from his rapid-fire questions and the warmth of his touch that she was missing when only seconds had passed. 

“I’m sorry. But I know the solution to our problem.”

“What is it?” _Our problem?_

Jaime took her hand and looked at her solemnly. “Will you marry me, Brienne?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just stay tuned. Things will be explained why Jaime is doing this.


	8. The Lies We Weave to Save Ourselves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things speed up a bit

Sleep—the very idea of it was becoming a myth. No matter how drained she was, it eluded her. If she was lucky enough she got two hours, maybe almost three. Nothing more. She was not having much coffee but her mind and body were wired, running on a kind of high laced with dread.

Brienne had never been married before but she knew for certain this was not how a newlywed should feel—especially when it was to someone like Jaime Lannister.

Jaime who had shot down all her nays to his proposal with very reasonable arguments. What the fuck for— _Because you need me_. Why the fuck do you want to marry me? _I’m aging here, wench. What’s it gonna take for you to say yes?_ That shut her up and Jaime outlined why she should marry him.

He was blunt about it. She was a Tarth, the last of a dying house. Her family may have a long history but it was only a minor house. With her as the only heir and its fortune gone, there was no way she could make Roose Bolton bleed, in court, or even in a dark alley without paying dearly. Her friendship with the Starks gave her some shield but it was only that—a fucking flimsy shield. Brynden Tully was the police commissioner. He had pull, he could push the DA to ensure that Roose Bolton dearly but it was only that—he had power, he could do something. Very different from someone with power and guaranteed the desired results.

“But—but—“ her heart was in her mouth so words were a struggle. Nearing the point of hysteria, she wailed, “Jaime, you don’t have to marry me! This is insane—“

“No.” He insisted. “Hear me out.” Then, almost gently, he added, “Try not to freak out.”

“Easy for you to say,” she muttered but sat back on the loveseat in her studio. Her eyes looked at him warily.

It wasn’t enough to be engaged. She had to be a Lannister, in every legal way she could be. As Brienne Lannister, that entitled her to shares in Casterly Corporation. Shares that grew for every three years she was married to him and for every son she bore him—unless Jaime would make any daughter of theirs his heir. Brienne shot off the sofa and Jaime placated her with hands on her shoulders. He hesitated but leaned close anyway and took her lips in a soft kiss that weakened her legs but had her heart pounding faster. She clutched at his shirt in her fists as she kissed him back clumsily, hardly noticing how he took advantage of her limp, distracted state to put her back on her butt on the sofa. Breathing rapidly, she stared at him, eyes big as saucers and her mouth looking like a crushed rose in bloom. Jaime got down on his knee in front of her and wrapped a hand around her nape. Not to kiss her, she discovered to her surprising disappointment. But to continue their discussion.

There will never be a child. He spoke quietly and firmly, his eyes bright and cool like jade. He will make sure there will never be a child. But yes, to win against Roose Bolston, she was going to have be a fucking Lannister.

Aside from shares, this meant she also had an army of lawyers who would kill themselves first before losing any case involving her. For the assault charge on Roose, that was out of their hands. The prosecutor was going to be Barristan Selmy, who specialized in sex crimes and had an excellent track record. With the judge, here, once Brienne was a Lannister, they could have some pull. 

“Much of what will happen depends on you being a Lannister, Brienne.” Jaime told her.“I vow to help you. But you need Tywin Lannister behind you. Some people would shudder at my presence but I have heard that just the mention of my father’s name have sent the healthiest men to the grave.”

The Lannister name and family would give her the armor she desperately needed. Roose’s lawyers wouldn’t dare approach her and it gave Roose genuine fear because of the money the Lannisters had and what they were prepared to do. Jaime intended to take full advantage of their wedding announcement to  remind the public of the annihilation of House Castamere. This was the ultimate calling card—not even the mobsters of King City would touch a Lannister.

With the power her marriage, she and Roose would be on equal ground, more on of her favor. She could, for example, file a countersuit in his lawsuit against her. Lannisters were in the board of trustees of art and music in the entire Westeros. If the Marillion wouldn’t allow her to audition, they would withdraw their donations and other contributions. And since people only did as the Lannisters, they would follow.

Indeed, reasonable arguments. But Brienne, broken as she was, still wanted to believe in one thing.

“We don’t love each other, Jaime.”

Jaime’s hand fell from her nape. “I care about you. I will protect you. Shouldn’t that be enough?”

Brienne shook her head and protested, “Look, I get that you want to help me. Thank you. You have no idea how deeply grateful I am but---you know this isn’t right! And—and what happens after, Jaime? We can’t. . .we don’t love each other. We can’t be together.

Jaime appeared to consider her words. When he spoke, he sounded very calm,“What if we stipulate in the prenup that once the trial is over and ending in a favorable verdict, we have the option to file for a divorce?”

The word was out of Brienne’s lips before she could think.

“Yes.”

Jaime stilled. “Yes to what?”

Brienne felt her heart being cleaved in two. “I’ll—I’ll marry you. Yes, Jaime.”

Foolish and a fucking idiot that she was, she realized when she found herself in the palatial ancestral home of the Lannisters, Casterly Rock three days after the proposal. Born and raised in Tarth, Brienne was a stranger to King City society. Jaime looked at her as if torn between laughing and shaking his head pityingly as she stared bug-eyed at the high, ornate ceilings decorated in rich crimson and gold. Evenfall Hall was a small castle—still a castle, of course, but Casterly Rock was the size of four Evenfall Halls. Including land. She flushed, feeling like a clueless country mouse in the black dress she wore to Selwyn’s funeral. It was a little tight around the shoulders now and the bodice fit her too exactly. It had a boat neck and long sleeves, an A-line skirt that went all the way to the knees. A perfect dress for mourning. Though she knew never to have any hopes in this upcoming marriage save for the protection and money it would give her, it was still embarrassing looking the way she did. It reminded her more clearly that their marriage was a sham. Jaime caught her fidgeting and put a hand on the middle of her back. Unlike her, his suit was a beautiful navy. His hair looked more golden and his emerald eyes a richer shade.

“Chin up, wench.” He told her. “A Lannister never bows.”

“I’m not yet a Lannister.”

“You already are.” She didn’t hear the tremor in his voice as spoke. “Relax. You look like you have an appointment with the hangman. It’s only my father.”

Tywin Lannister was an older version of Jaime, but with cold green eyes that scrutinized her from head to toe. Jaime’s hand on her back prevented Brienne from lowering her eyes as the old man glared at her, his disapproval obvious. She was ugly. Taller than his son. Bigger. His firm lips curled in a sneer as he assessed the cut and quality of her dress. Brienne stared back at him, hoping Jaime didn’t mind the sweat spreading across her back.

“This is the woman?” Tywin demanded to Jaime. “The woman you wish to help?”

Brienne flinched but Jaime, though he sounded cross, spoke calmly. “I love her, Father. This is not a stunt.” He gripped the flesh of her back and Brienne stiffened. “This is real. I mean to make Brienne my wife whether you approve or not.”

Brienne was aghast but Jaime prevented her from moving any further as his arm wrapped around her waist. Tywin looked at her from head to toe. His eyes squinted at her chest and she reddened. Yes, she was flat. Her tits were pathetic. Then his tried to make out the shape of her hips from her shapeless skirt.

“Is she fertile?”

Brienne’s jaw hit the floor. Jaime said smoothly, “Of course. She’s young.”

“Good.” Tywin looked at her stomach. “Is she pregnant?”

“She might be. She’s late.”

When Tywin turned around to lead them to the dining room, Brienne hissed at Jaime. “What the fuck—“

He took her chin and kissed her hard. “Trust me,” he pleaded.

She might only be a temporary Lannister but she was going to be real one in every way. Jaime pointed out that by making Tywin think she was pregnant, he will warm up to the idea of a hasty wedding. “We can not tell me him the real reasons why we’re doing this, wench.” He said, speaking softly.

“It’s wrong to lie to your father, Jaime.” She insisted. Then she asked, “Who—who else knows the real reason why?”

Jaime made a face. “Tyrion and Margaery.”

She hung her head, not sure how to fell about some people knowing that their marriage was fake.

“I would rather they didn’t.” Jaime sounded apologetic.

Tywin, as predicted, did warm up to the idea of his son marrying so suddenly to a woman who was a no-name because she was knocked up. He did not, however, approve of a hasty wedding at the courthouse. No. He insisted they at least marry in the family yacht, Crimson Victory. In front of guests.

“No!” Brienne was shouting when she and Jaime were back in his apartment. “Jaime, we—you can’t let him invited all those business associates! Jaime, please. I beg you—“

He nodded and took her face in his hands. “It won’t happen like that. I swear it.”

“I can’t—Jaime, I can’t lie to that many people. I’m sorry. I know you’re doing this to help me.” As she spoke, she didn’t see Jaime’s face tighten at her last sentence. “I don’t want to embarrass you.”

She spoke plaintively, hating herself for turning to him in her hour of need and hating herself even more for depending on him so much. Jaime kissed her on the cheek. “Wench, that will never happen.”

“I’m so sorry—“

“Never apologize.” He said firmly. “I made this decision on my own. No one is forcing me, Brienne. I will protect you. I’ll help you make Roose Bolton pay.”

That he did. But there were areas where Jaime could do nothing. Such as with Sansa.

Jaime was putting himself way out for her but on certain things, Brienne did on her own. Such as reaching out to Sansa and telling her woodenly she was getting married. Sansa was quiet for a moment on the other line and Brienne imagined her looking at her feet then staring at the phone, wondering what had happened to her.

“If that’s what you think will help you,” Sansa began. “I’ll. . .Just. . .make sure, Brienne.”

Brienne hugged an arm around herself. “I’m sure.”

“Are you happy?”

No, she wasn’t. She wasn’t any of the things a bride should be because she knew the truth. Knew how much Jaime was doing. She was also troubled that after confessing about his affair with his twin sister, he had avoided any discussion of it. Brienne would push had things been different. She will just have to wait for Jaime to broach the subject. If he did.

Brienne, however, could still find a way to insert the truth. “He’s a good man.”

The day of the wedding. Despite the remaining tension between the two best friends, it was still Sansa that Brienne requested to help her get ready. Margaery took the dress to the cabin, her eyes twinkling and her smile eager as she unzipped the garment bag. Brienne blushed when it was presented to her, looking away in embarrassment. Sansa smiled, though.

“Jaime’s only instruction was that your shoulders and back be shown,” Margaery told Brienne as she hung the dress carefully. “He suggested blue but it’s not really an appropriate color for the wedding. But he wants you to have this.” With a flourish, she held out a small velvet box to Brienne. “Open it, come on,” she coaxed when Brienne just stared at her.

The contents of the case were a pair of teardrop sapphire earrings. Brienne bit her lip. She did not wear jewelry although she kept a few previous pieces that her mother had. The earrings were clearly expensive but it wasn’t their price that moved her. It was the thought Jaime once again providing for when he had already done so much. She quickly swiped the back of her hand across her eyes and managed a shaky smile.

“They’re beautiful. He’s so kind.”

Margaery beamed. “I’ll tell him you said so.”

Sansa helped Brienne into the dress. The neckline was a high square with delicate straps that crisscrossed at her back. Brienne’s freckles were vivid, red blotches as she stared at herself in the mirror. In front, the dress was not very revealing, unless one minded nipples. It was the back—or rather what was not on the back. The dress was delicate silk, with a sleek, column skirt that hugged her hips just right so they looked more round than merely wide. “Did you give your measurements to Jaime?” Sansa asked as she fluffed Brienne’s limp bob for body.

“No.”

Sansa grinned at her blush. “He does know your body very well, does he?” There was no reproach in her voice. Just teasing.

“Shut up, Sansa.”

There was not much Brienne could remember from the wedding. Well, Jaime’s eyes, of course. Beautiful and sparkling emeralds under the sun. The wind that gently whipped at his golden hair. His voice clear and fear as he pledged his love and protection, then rising over her fumbling delivery when they spoke their final vows in unison. The chiding look in his face before his lips brushed her, tongue moistening the rough, chapped flesh of hers. She remembered the heart of the sun on her back. The slight tilting of the floorboards of the boat. Jaime, very warm and true.

He did not fuck her. Brienne tried to hide her disappointment but she understood. She remembered. _There will never be children._ But he offered to please her, anyway. She was about to refuse when he kissed her and when he kissed her, she just _couldn’t_ think of refusing.

That night, Jaime’s mouth and hands drove her to heights of unbelievable pleasure. She helplessly panted against his tongue as his fingers fucked her, his knees keeping her legs impossibly open. She couldn’t stop touching him, learning the silky texture of his hair as he mouthed her breasts and suckled at her nipples. For the first time, she allowed herself to know his body, really know it. The right side of his neck was sensitive and he would shiver even when she just blew air on it. His nipples were sensitive but he chuckled as she shyly played with them, her face red as he coaxed her to pinch a little harder. His left hipbone jutted sharper than its partner, and apparently more sensitive. This was as far as she got before Jaime’s tongue was inside her cunt again, firm and thrusting, drawing out the most secret taste of her. She cried out his name.

If she thought that being on the Pill meant Jaime actually fucking her, she was mistaken. He never touched her again after their wedding night. They slept together but he didn’t hold her. Brienne didn’t ask. Hadn’t he made it clear? They got married so she would have the power of the Lannister name. She shouldn’t begrudge Jaime for not fucking her. Pills and condoms were not one hundred percent effective. They couldn’t risk a child, not when they would be filing for divorce eventually.

Besides, he didn’t have to hold her or fuck her to keep the bad dreams away. Just having him with her was enough, although she would still dream of Roose Bolton succeeding.

As Jaime had promised, once she was a Lannister, possibilities and guarantees opened. Vargo Hoat, who had been nagging her with calls stopped trying to get in touch with her. Roose remained in jail until the trial. The judge at the family court, a long-time friend of the Lannisters, had ensured he wouldn’t be seeing his son unless supervised and only for two hours every month. Addam Marbrand, Jaime’s childhood friend who was one of the lawyers in the Lannister retinue. He had filed a countersuit against Roose on Brienne’s behalf—and was also seeking damages in the millions.

The Marillion, fearful of ending up bankrupt, sent Brienne a handwritten letter, signed by the president, no less, expressing regret over rescinding her invitation. They would be honored should she audition, as was the plan, and she could choose the time and date provided it was done before the beginning of the first semester.

Now here they were. Married for close to two months yet living more like strangers. They slept in the same bed, had their meals together. Jaime was with her on every court date. He didn’t complain when she got home late from practicing her cello—she still kept her studio and the instrument there, reasoning that her playing would distract him from painting. He made no move to touch her—once or twice, she fancied the idea that he was looking at her strangely but that was all it was—a fantasy. What they had was a business arrangement yet. . .she shouldn’t wish for things she will never have. Jaime had done more than enough. She shouldn’t be greedy.

Brienne was wide awake despite the early hour of the morning. She was done with her testimony—an emotionally and mentally grueling activity. Today would be Roose Bolton’s turn. No wonder sleep was harder than before.

She started to get up when Jaime’s hand landed on her thigh. “You’re awake already, wench?” His voice was slurred. “The sun isn’t up yet.”

His hand just remained there, not caressing or anything. Brienne blushed. She wore nightshirts to bed. Until a few weeks ago, she also wore panties. Then one morning, she woke up with Jaime’s hand tucked inside her panties, hand warm and firm on her cunt. She held her breath, torn between surprise and relief that he was not only the one wanting so much. She knew all that this. . .thing they had entailed but she had need of Jaime unlike anything before. Not to protect her. It was embarrassing and confusing, a tangled ball of yarn and twine all at once. She squeezed her eyes shut, sweat dotting her upper lip as she struggled from squeezing his hand where she was aching. But Jaime, whose quickening breath told her he was waking and realizing what his hand was doing, quickly withdrew. The bed squeaked and shook as he turned away.

 _No, he did the right thing._ She told herself later. _It was the right thing._

Nevertheless, she stopped wearing bottoms to bed. It was nightshirts of a respectable length covering her thighs but still short. The incident was never repeated. Sleeping drew them to each other, sometimes not really touching but at least pressed to each other. Since the morning his hand had settled between her thighs, she woke up to find him sticking to his side of the bed, a distance of at least a foot between them. _You are ugly. He told you so. Did you think he would change his mind? You’re a fool._

 “I can’t sleep,” she admitted. “Go back to sleep. I’m sorry I woke you.”

She was sorry when his hand fell from her thigh. Bowing her head to hide her shame, she got up from the bed.

They were in her apartment. Her practice had gone later than usual and she called Jaime to say she would be staying the night here. To her surprise, he said he was coming over. She had just come out of the bathroom when he arrived. A kiss on her mouth, deep and too quick, then he was in her bed. Their bed now.

“Can’t sleep either,” Jaime grunted but remaining in bed.

“I thought I’d play the cello but. . .”

“But what, wench?”

She glared at him and he winked at her.

“I don’t want to disturb you.”

“You won’t. Go, practice. I don’t mind.”

“It’s early.”

Jaime sat up, golden hair beautifully tousled. “So? Are you alright?” His light tone transformed to concern “Maybe you should talk to me. I’m all ears.”

He leaned against the headboard, bare-chested and one hell of a distraction from her thoughts about the trial. Flustered with his eyes on her, she tugged at her shirt to cover her thighs and her cunt. She didn’t notice the longing in his face. By the time she looked at him, he wore a bland expression.

“Um—are you sure? I mean—“

“I’m your husband.” Was his simple statement.

They stared at each other. For this was the first time either of them he had acknowledged their marriage.

“I’m your husband.” Jaime repeated, sounding stubborn and annoyed. “I’m here for you. Tell me what bothers you, wife. I will listen. I will help.”

Brienne glanced wildly at the dresser. “I think I should put on clothes first.”

“What for? You look fine as you are.”

She shook her head. Still tugging uselessly at her shirt, she scrambled to the dresser to retrieve a pair of shorts. Jaime was one again wearing a too-innocent, bland expression on his face when she turned around to face him. She sat at the foot of the bed and he frowned.

“Why are you doing over there?”

“Um, what’s wrong?”

Jaime sighed in exasperation and patted the space beside him. “I want my wife next to me.”

Brienne’s ears reddened. _I’m not his wife._ But she climbed in beside him, anyway. Even drew the blanket to her chest. Jaime rolled his eyes.

“You really think the pants are necessary?”

“I’m trying to be polite!”

“What the fuck for?”

“Jaime, I thought I could talk to you!” She whined.

“Oh.” Jaime looked surprised then sighed. “Yes. Of course. As I said.” He slid down and turned, propping his chin on his fist. Brienne looked at him curiously.

“Seeing you from the nose up is a view I’m used to. But I like to look at my wife’s eyes when we talk.”

When Jaime called her wench, it was in a tone that was playful and silky to the ear. And annoying. He was using the same tone now. Feeling heat climb to her cheeks and settle there, she squirmed until she was lying down and facing him.

They had slept together. Fucked. But to be in bed just like this, breathing and staring at each other expectantly, never.

“You’re not getting enough sleep.” Jaime scolded her, seeing the dark circles under her eyes. “That or you’re turning into a raccoon.”

“I can’t sleep.” She admitted. “Jaime, Roose is testifying today.”

He ran a hand down her shoulder before threading his fingers between hers. “I know.”

Brienne shuddered, not from his touch but in what Roose Bolton would be saying on the stand. She had testified already. But will the jury believe her? Was the truth of her testimony enough for them to have zero doubts?

“He’s going to say I seduced him.” It made her ill. “That’s what he’s been saying to the media. He shouldn’t. . .he’s going to swear an oath. He can’t lie. He’s going to commit perjury—“

“Let him.” Jaime’s hand gripped her, prompting her to look at him. “Let that fucker have his lies. Let him spin fiction, Brienne. He will get caught. _He will pay._ ” He sneered.

“He’s Roose Bolton.”

“You’re Brienne Tarth.” As she blinked at him, he mumbled, “Brienne Lannister. My wife. You told the truth. The evidence supports you.” He searched her eyes. “I have no idea what you must be going through. Gods, Brienne, when I. . .that night.” She watched as Jaime choked on his next words. “Every time. . .I can’t forget that night. I want to bash his face in again and again. I want to kill him. Kill him for what he did to you.”

“Jaime—“

“What if I didn’t come back?”

“But you did.” She pressed her lips on his knuckles. “You came back for me. I will never forget that.”

Jaime watched her press more kisses on his knuckles. Then he slipped an arm behind her and drew her close. Brienne held him tight. She wished she never had to leave the security of his arms. 

 

 

Brienne wished there was some way that Jaime could be sitting at the table with her. He was right behind her, reassuring and comforting but she really needed to hold his hand right now. So instead she clasped her hands on her lap, willing herself to calm as Roose Bolton narrated his version of the events. Not just of the night.

“Miss Tarth is a young woman and I’m a widower. But we are adults and it was clear she was seducing me.”

“Objection,” Barristan Selmy interjected. “That’s speculation.”

“I’ll rephrase the question.” Vargo Hoat said without a missing a beat. “Mr. Bolton, was Miss Tarth, now Mrs. Lannister, expected to dress a certain way for her job?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did she have a uniform? Or a dress code she had to follow.”

Brienne brought her hands to her mouth and bit her knuckles. Oh, gods. He was referring to that afternoon. When he first came on to her.

“No, there was no dress code. But it was expected that she come in proper attire.”

“And what is that?”

“Why, tasteful of course. Conservative. Clothes that are not revealing.”

“And would you say that Mrs. Lannister dressed appropriately?”

“Objection,” Barristan Selmy said. "We can not allow a victim's clothing be a factor to what happened. To do so would be a precedent in putting the blame on the victim and the accused absolved of any responsibility."

“But Mrs. Lannister’s choice of clothes is important, Your Honor.” Vargo insisted. “Especially regarding items she deliberately did not wear.”

The judge was Gregor Clegane. He was a feared judge when it came to sex crimes because he had no sympathy for the accused. He was also Tywin Lannister’s godson.

Judge Clegane looked conflicted then said, “I’ll allow it. But mind your questioning, Mr. Hoat.”

“So, Mr. Bolton.” Vargo prompted as Barristan sat down. “How did Mrs. Lannister dress?”

“She never wears bras.”

Brienne squirmed, feeling sick.

“But so what, Mr. Bolton?” Vargo asked. “Lots of women don’t wear bras.”

“Yes. But Mrs. Lannister would always see me first before going to my son. I did not require her to check with me. She would go to my office and engage me in conversation.”

“What if she’s just being friendly?”

Roose smirked. “She said she wanted to thank me for hiring her. And she wished to thank me in a way that would please us both.”

“Mr. Selmy—“ Brienne whispered, her anger and humiliation mounting.

“Stay calm,” He told her.

“And what way was that, Mr. Bolton?”

“Sex, of course.”

“Mrs. Lannister offered to have sex with you?” Vargo's incredulity was exaggerated. Brienne put her hands back on her lap to glare daggers at Vargo. 

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Objection.” Barristan growled. “How is this relevant to the case?”

“It is relevant.” Vargo insisted.

“Mr. Hoat. You’re on thin ice.” Judge Clegane warned him as Barristan sat down.

“Yes, Your Honor.” Vargo looked like he was itching to rub his palms. “Mr. Bolton? Mrs. Lannister offered to have sex with you?”

“Yes.”

“Anything else?”

“Leading,” Barristan snapped.

“Did Mrs. Lannister specify how this sex is supposed to go about?”

“Yes.”

“And how was it, Mr. Bolton?”

Roose’s smile was cold. “She told me she liked it rough.”

Vargo affected confusion. “Rough?”

“She likes pain.” Roose's voice was reverent. He caught Brienne's horrified stare and held it. He was practically licking his lips.

"What kind of pain?"

"She said she likes to be bitten." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Supposedly, this chapter opens with the trial and just a mention of Jaime and Brienne having a quick wedding. That didn't suit the direction of this story and I didn't like what I wrote at all. The wedding is a small thing but to show how Brienne was feeling from the moment of the proposal until the weeks following their wedding, if I had gone with my original draft, there would be flashbacks that have nothing to do with Roose's testimony. 
> 
> The assault has been written and remembered enough in the series. I'm not saying it no longer matters but instead of the story moving forward, it was chugging along like a heavily-loaded train low on power or something. That's why there's no scene where Brienne testifies. But how to combine how Brienne was feeling about Jaime's offer to save her by marriage and contemplating what kind of relationship they exactly have? No, the chapter couldn't open with Roose's testimony. Since Jaime married her precisely to give her the power and the means to fight Roose, I just thought to fit the pieces here and there and take it towards Roose's testimony. It's a mess but this is better than the one I first wrote. 
> 
> As you can see, I'm no lawyer. So forgive the exchange between Barristan Selmy and Vargo Hoat. Don't worry, you'll see Mr. Selmy in action in a bit. I made Gregor Clegane judge because he's Tywin's vicious attack dog anyway. But in the serious, he doesn't have the insanity and violence from ASOIAF and GoT. Did the Lannisters find a way to get him be the judge? I wouldn't be surprised. 
> 
> Thanks for reading the latest update and to the very end of this rambling.


	9. Where I Belong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trial continues.

Olenna Tyrell must have sensed Jaime could barely restrain his anger. She reached out to pat his hand. He glanced at her, saw her warning look then tilting her head in the direction of the prosecution, where Brienne sat with Barristan Selmy. He nodded and she patted his hand again, firmly this time.

His head was spinning and his stomach doing flip-flops as Roose Bolton recounted his version of the events with glee. The man was practically giddy. He asked to see Brienne in the study to compliment her on the job well done. He was talking when she suddenly kissed him.

Jaime blinked through the red haze coloring his vision, concentrating on the tensed line of Brienne’s shoulders.

Vargo Hoat, still treating the cross-examination as a theatrical performance, gasped, “She kissed you? You’re saying that Mrs. Lannister kissed you, Mr. Bolton?”

“Yes.”

“For the court’s clarification, she made the first move?”

“Objection.” Barristan said. “Assumptions.”

Gregor Clegane shot Vargo Hoat a wary look. “Stick to the details, Mr. Hoat.”

“I’ll re-phrase, then. Mrs. Lannister kissed you and based on the offer she made earlier. . .”

“Yes. So, I responded in the same manner. Mrs. Lannister is not very attractive but she’s young and healthy. Eager.” Roose smiled coldly at Brienne and Jaime huffed in anger. “That always counts for something.”

“But if she kissed you and you kissed her back, why are there bruises?”

Jaime saw Barristan lean forward to object. Judge Clegane beat him to it.

“Mr. Hoat, your client is not a doctor or a medical practitioner of any kind to answer that question. This is your second warning.”

“I apologize, Your Honor. So, Mr. Bolton, after she kissed you and you kissed her back, what happened?”

Roose was smug. “I did my best to fulfill her fantasy.”

“And what is it, if you don’t mind repeating it for the jury?”

Roose turned to them. “She told me she liked it rough.”

“That will be all, Mr. Bolton.” Vargo turned and smirked at Barristan Selmy and Brienne. “Your witness.”

Barristant Selmy remained in his seat, regarding Roose with narrow eyes.

“It is something of note that your testimony is counter to Mrs. Lannister’s at every point, Mr. Bolton. Because according to her affidavit and her testimony, no such conversation regarding her offer of sex of any kind took place.”

“Of course she will not tell you the truth.”

“Are you saying she lied on the stand, under oath?”

“She has her own version of that night. I have the truth.”

“Alright. I suppose since you are insistent and this cross is the search for it, it is time for the truth.” Barristant got up, buttoning up his suit. He was an elegant man, with thick white hair and a matching beard trimmed neatly. Though his face was lined, his complexion was smooth and his eyes had a sharp, knife-like quality. It was clear that this was not a man to cross unless one wished to be cut up like small bites of cake.“Why did you hire Mrs. Lannister, Mr. Bolton? You hired her as a music tutor for your son Ramsay, did you not?”

“Yes.”

“So, why did you? Because there is no indication in your records or your son’s of any interest in music, classic or otherwise.”

“Mrs. Lannister—she was Miss Tarth, then, was referred to me by a friend.”

“And who is this friend?”

“One of my business associates. Jon Umber.”

“Uh-huh.” Barristan made a show of examining papers on his desk before looking up at Roose. “Go on.” Then he went back to rifling papers

Roose frowned as he glanced at Judge Clegane before continuing. “Miss Tarth was referred to me. I knew of her father. She had a good reference and I thought now was the time for my son Ramsay to learn how to appreciate classical music.”

“Your son Ramsay who remains in the custody of Child Services?”

“Yes.”

“Objection,” VArgo Hoat interjected. “Details regarding Ramsay Bolton are not pertinent to the case.”

“Oh, I believe it is, Your Honor.” Barristant said, looking up from the papers. “See, on paper, Mr. Bolton, you’re spotless. Piles and piles of it and not a single stain. Unless one looks deep enough. Your son’s current situation is one of the many.”

“Objection—“

“Mr. Selmy,” Judge Clegane warned. “Get to the point.”

“Alright. I apologize, Your Honor, but yes, there is a point. See, Mr. Bolton, your son has written that you forced him into music lessons. Which doesn’t raise any red flags, right everyone?” He addressed the jury with the question before turning back to Roose. He picked up a folder from the table. “What kid appreciates classical music? But here he is, on paper.” He waved the folder. “An interesting detail—he says here that you told him you need Brienne. That he should be nice to her.”

“Objection. That is not among the evidence we agreed on!”

“This just came to me right before court, Your Honor. And it’s only now I’ve thought to examine it.” Barristan strode forward with the folder and Vargo Hoat scrambled to follow him. Jaime glared at Roose, who was squirming in his seat as the lawyers conversed with the judge.

Judge Clegane was cross as he examined the documents. “This is irregular, Mr. Selmy.”

“I know. But I have proof of the defendant’s behavior right in these pages that is contrary to everything he’s said so far and corroborates Mrs. Lannister’s testimony. I’m presenting this as evidence to the court.” Mr. Selmy replied, unfazed.

“Your Honor, I demand a recess.” Vargo insisted.

Judge Clegane glared at him. “This is _my_ court, Mr. Hoat. Anyone who demands or commands anything here is only me. Request for recess denied.” He shut the folder and nodded at Barristan. “You may continue.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.”

“Jury shall take into evidence an affidavit by Ramsay Bolton, son of Roose Bolton, provided by the Special Victims Unit.” Judge Clegane addressed the jury.

Barristan, holding his copy of the document, turned to Roose. “Care to explain to the court what you meant when you told your son you needed Brienne Tarth Lannister, Mr. Bolton?”

Roose looked helplessly at Vargo Hoat, who sighed and shook his head in defeat.

“Mr. Bolton?” Barristan prompted because he was still silent after a few minutes. “Would you like me to repeat the question?”

“This is not right—“ Roose said to Judge Clegane.

“Answer the question, Mr. Bolton.” When Roose remained silent, Judge Clegane barked, “Mr. Selmy,  repeat the question.”

“What did you mean when you told your son Ramsay that he should be nice to Brienne? That you needed her?”

Jaime stiffened as Roose blurted out, “I told him it’s because she’s innocent.”

“Innocent of what?”

“Just fucking innocent,” Roose hissed.

“Watch your language at my court,” Judge Clegane snapped.

Roose’s stare at Vargo was loathing as he continued, “Just innocent. She’s young and clearly a virgin.”

“As a matter of fact,” Barristan said, rifling some pages of the document, “this is the kind of description that you used on former employees concerning your son. A Miss Walda Frey, who was his nanny, Mrs. Lannister and the latest, his private tutor Miss Osha Wilde.”

“Objection,” Vargo Hoat snarled. “What’s the point of parading the names of these former employees? So my client is into young, inexperienced women. Is that a crime?”

“No, it’s not.” Barristan answered. “But it’s something of concern because Miss Frey and Miss Wilde suffered the same kind of injury on the same anatomy as Mrs. Lannister.”

“Miss Frey was raped in her apartment,” Vargo said. “And she has nothing to do with the case.”

“Of course she doesn’t being that you had her sign a non-disclosure agreement. But Mrs. Lannister and Miss Wilde haven’t.”

“Again, Miss Frey is off-limits!”

“Order!” Judge Clegane banged his gavel. “Get back to your seat, Mr. Hoat. Mr. Selmy, this is still my courtroom. When a lawyer objects, I’m the only one who speaks before you can again. Understood?”

Barristan spread his palms in a gesture of apology. “I’m sorry, Your Honor.” He turned to the jury, his expression regretful. “You have my sincerest apologies. I only wish to make things right for Mrs. Lannister.”

“That woman took advantage of a vulnerable widower—me, and as thanks she’s slapped me with the most ridiculous, damaging charges!” Roose protested. As the jury gasped at his outburst, Vargo was once again on his feet, shouting for a recess. Judge Clegane banged his gavel while Roose continued to rant.

“What the fuck is a man supposed to think when a woman parades without bras and her fucking nipples on full display? If she was bothered by the attention I gave to her, she didn’t say anything. She seduced me and she’s made a fool of me—“

“Control your client, Mr. Hoat!” Judge Clegane roared.

“Mr. Bolton, you be quiet!” Vargo was yelling as he shouldered past a calm Barristan Selmy.

Roose turned his pale eyes to Brienne and the words rolled smooth and full of loathing. _“You fucking whore.”_

Olenna could only shout as Jaime leaped from his seat and ran toward Roose Bolton, ready to bash his face to the ground yet again.

 

 

Jaime watched dully as a police officer started unlocking the cell door. “You’re free to go,” he was told briskly.

Addam Marbrand was signing the papers for his release when Jaime arrived at the front desk. His friend, whose hair was beginning to recede from his forehead, looked up then resumed the task before him. “You look like Seven Hells, Lannister. You haven’t been in there for half a day,” he remarked without missing a beat.

“Thank you,” Jaime said hoarsely.

“If it were just me, I’d say you should be there for at least a couple of more hours. But I can’t say no to your wife when she looks at me with those eyes of hers.”

Jaime was startled. “Brienne is here?”

“Out there, yes. Go. I’ll take care of this.”

Jaime turned to leave. The last he saw of Brienne, she looked distressed and she was trying to get past the officers who were blocking her. Jaime was on the floor, having been shoved there by Barristan Selmy himself. He had managed to shove the two men out of the way to grab Roose Bolton by the throat before Barristan tackled him with surprising strength. As he was handcuffed and hauled off, he could hear Brienne shouting at them not to take her husband away.

He may not have hurt Roose as the bastard deserved but it was worth getting in jail for. Dared he think there was care in Brienne’s voice too, aside from fear? She must care for him too.

He had no regrets about marrying Brienne. Tyrion and Margaery tried to talk him out of it but once his mind was set, there was no stopping him. He could see Brienne disintegrating before his eyes with the burden of the decision she had to make. Her case was strong but in the end, it was name and power that would determine things in her favor. Such was this cruel world. She also said that if there was a trial, how could she keep working? Indeed, she’d had to quit her jobs. Between putting Roose in jail and losing her apartment and starving, Brienne didn’t have much of a choice until Jaime offered to marry her.

It was the only decision he could make that would truly benefit her. He did not know his wife long but knew that if he offered to hire a lawyer for her, she wouldn’t accept it, out of stupid pride. If he offered her a job in the meantime that won’t interfere with court dates, she still wouldn’t accept it. Again because of stupid pride. By marrying her, he made her legally entitled to the benefits of being a Lannister. He did it to save her.

Before, a long time ago, he vowed never to put himself out there for anyone again. Cersei had soured him to this act of nobility. With her, being her protector and ending up as her lover were lines that got tangled and crossed repeatedly, summing up to their mutual betrayal and his eventual alcoholism. He had destroyed himself trying to protect his sister despite what she did to him in the end. His heart couldn’t take it anymore. Brienne, for reasons he couldn’t understand then, gave him the courage to reach out again.

He no longer questioned how he felt about her. He cared for her, greatly, deeply, truly. One could even say he was devoted her. He did all that he could but the past had taught him a valuable lesson: never to give himself fully, to always leave something for himself. This was why he didn’t allow himself to touch Brienne intimately even when his very soul screamed against the very idea. Making love to Brienne was an eye-opener in the most wonderful and harshest of ways. It bared his heart. It also showed that if he were to continue, he was setting himself up for the worst kind of destruction and there was no way to recover from that. He had to save himself. By doing so, he would save her, all over again. He longed for her to care for him in her own way and time, if possible. To care for him still after everything.

Sleeping with Brienne and waking up with her was a blessing and a curse. He was reminded of what he had and what he didn’t. She was in his bed but he was not in her heart.

It would be so easy to give in to what his cock demanded. He ached to sink himself deep inside her and remain there for days, drowning in the beauty of her eyes and revived only by her hesitant but warm kisses. He suffered real physical pain all over every night she climbed in beside him and turned her back, smelling clean and fresh and warm. In the mornings, he would try to not watch her as she got dressed but almost always failed. He wished to be her at her side, teasing and kissing her, playfully preventing her from putting on her shirt because he wanted to play with her tits some more. When she bent her neck to take a sip of coffee, he longed to kiss the delicate line of her nape, marveling that all of her was so sturdy but this line of hers was surprisingly and wondrously delicate.

He was losing this war. Just a few weeks ago, he woke up to find his hand on her cunt and determined to stay there. He didn’t know if she knew and it was the hardest thing to not press against her and take things further. He hated himself for taking advantage. Because that’s what he was. He promised to her they will never have children. He promised that their marriage would be to help her win. It did not include fucking her.

Jaime made his way past the other people being processed and booked, his eyes already steady on the tall, pale-haired figure at the end of the hallway. Head bowed, nape bared. Brienne was wearing a dark gray dress with a sweater that was a few shades lighter. It fit her well, nipping at her boyish waist so it looked curved, ending respectably at the knee but still showcasing her amazingly long legs. She wore black flats. He had to smile. He knew a pair of low-heeled sandals went with the dress and her legs would be phenomenal in them. The flats were a reminder that Brienne was still herself. He had saved her from being destroyed.

“Brienne.” He spoke her name softly but she heard him, turning around with a gasp.

“Jaime.” His name was broken glass from her lips as she went to him. To his surprise, she pulled him in her arms, her strong arms that promised only the softest embrace. Jaime leaned heavily against her, marveling at the strength of her for she didn’t stagger. She pressed kisses around his face and he turned his head to catch her lips. She squeaked in surprise and he cupped the back of her head to keep her still as he kissed her hungrily, longingly.

Gods, he did not want to leave her arms. He wanted to kiss her forever, like this. But the gods were cruel, as was Brienne. She managed to break away but kept her arms around him. Jaime would take it. Sapphire eyes wide with concern, she breathed, “Are you okay?”

He nodded. “Are you?”

“Oh, Jaime.” She kissed him on the forehead. He frowned and took her face so he could have her plump lips again. It had been so long. He plunged his tongue past her lips and she whimpered. Then she slid her tongue across his too. Jaime rolled his hips, letting her know what her kisses were doing south of his body. She jumped, blushing heavily.

“I don’t regret what I did,” he thought to tell her.

“I can never stop you when it comes to fighting for me, can I?” She sounded resigned.

“I vowed to take you under my protection, Brienne. A vow I made to you.” He told her.

Brienne’s chin wobbled. “As I did you.”

She still looked worried. Jaime suddenly felt cold, realizing a possible repercussion of his actions.

“Did the judge declare a mistrial?”

She shook her head. He sighed in relief.

“Mr. Selmy intends to put Ramsay on the stand, Jaime.”

“The boy?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Brienne looked aghast. “Jaime, he’s a child.”

“A child whom Roose has manipulated and will be instrumental in turning the jury’s favor to you.”

“Still.”

“Fuck your concern on everyone else, Brienne.” Jaime told her. She frowned at him. He glared at her. “You. It’s only you whom you should be concerned about.”

“And what about my husband?”

In response, Jaime kissed her again. She kissed him back. Gods. Two months since he’d last kissed her. How had he survived without having her like this?

“Jaime, don’t do that again. Please. You’ve already done so much,” she pleaded between their heated kisses.

“Can’t help it.” He admitted. 

 _“Try.”_ She claimed the bottom of his lips with her teeth. Jaime hissed and groaned loudly.

“Hey.” Addam Marbrand came up behind them and shoved Jaime on the shoulder. “Come on, guys. I know you’re newlyweds but this is a police station.”

“Thank you, Addam.” Brienne said as Jaime slipped a possessive arm around her waist. She was blushing, a deep, vivid crimson that almost matched the color of her swollen lips.

“Thanks for bailing me out,” Jaime told him.

“No big deal.” Addam said. “So, where can I drop you off?”

“Home.” Brienne replied, moving closer to Jaime. She looked at him then back at Addam. “We’d like to go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'm not a lawyer.


	10. Rebirth

Brienne was sitting on the bench in the closet, wearily rubbing the feeling back in her toes when Jaime slipped inside. She flushed, quickly lowering her foot back on the floor. But Jaime’s back was facing her as he shrugged off his deep navy suit jacket. Broad shoulders in a crisp white shirt with very subtle gray piping emerged.

“I thought to invite Addam for dinner,” he said, soft popping sounds accompanying his voice. Brienne knew he was unbuttoning the shirt. She sat back, just watching him, listening to him.

“But the son of a bitch has a date.” Despite the words, Jaime sounded like he was smiling and she knew he would be. It was infuriating that mockery spilled from his mouth more often than it should but Brienne noticed that when it came to his friends, he spoke in a certain tone. It was a combination of exasperation and amusement, still with a very slight lilt of mockery. Then warmth.

“Off to The House of Black and White, that one,” he continued, leanly-muscled, golden shoulders revealed as he took off he shirt. The restaurant he was talking about was one of the most famous in King City, and required reservations months in advance. “Where he’ll woo some pathetic female out of her panties with lobsters and champagne.”

“I’m glad he picked up on the first ring.” She admitted. Gods, what a day this was. Roose Bolton’s testimony made her feel greasy and gritty. Barristan Selmy, as well as Jaime and Addam, had warned her that Roose will definitely lie on the stand. They cautioned control because any sign of visible distress, let alone hysteria, might turn the jury against her. He was looking to provoke her. And that’s what he succeeded in doing—with Jaime.

Brienne was too shocked at the venom dripping from Roose’s words that she didn’t see what Jaime was up to until he was dashing to the stand. She cried out his name but in the commotion that followed, her voice was lost amidst other cries of outrage. Jaime managed to grab Roose by the collar of his shirt before Barristan Selmy tackled him to the ground. There were shouts and the judge pounding his gavel. Uniformed officers came and Brienne had panicked. _Don’t hurt him. Don’t take him away. Jaime. Jaime._ Realizing that they were going to arrest him, she bolted out of her seat but was stopped by the other cops. It was Olenna, her voice scratchy yet firm, that reached out to her and preached reason and calm. Brienne called Addam Marbrand then.

“Of course he should. You’re paying him.”

“He’s your friend.”

Jaime turned around and she jumped. He smirked. She had seen him in various states of undress, hells, they’ve fucked, but the physical beauty of Jaime Lannister still got to her. As heat spread from her cheeks down to her neck in a shade of blotchy red, he sat down beside her. Brienne lowered her gaze as he tucked a stray pale lock behind her ear. A touch on her shoulder then his hand settled on her thigh, warm and comforting but also stirring her blood.

“How are you doing, wench?”

He never asked her if she was okay. Instead her asked her in a way that gave her the chance to say exactly how she felt in her own terms. To others she had to present a calm, strong front. To Jaime, she couldn’t. It was because of her eyes. They could never lie. He told her this often, sounding both happy and crushed.

“I don’t know if I can go on another day. And being. . .and having no choice but to just listen to him lie.”

“I know.” He took her hand and kissed her knuckles.

“I mean, you—everyone—told me he will lie but gods, it’s so hard. I want to kill him for every lie out of him.” She spoke through gritted teeth. If Jaime was surprised, he made no show of it. He only held her hand tighter and pressed more kisses on her kisses. Green eyes looked up at her.

“Why do you think I did what I did?”

She said it herself. There was no way to stop him from protecting her. “But no more. Promise me, Jaime.” She was reluctant to take her hand away from his kisses but she placed it on his cheek. His five o’clock shadow was rough on her palm but he felt warm.

He winced. “Brienne, come on—“

“No, Jaime. _Promise me._ ” She couldn’t forgive herself if he got hurt.

Brienne was learning so many things about her husband. But every unraveling revealed an even more complicated man. He said he and his father were not on good terms yet he respected the man enough to introduce her. He loved Tyrion—there was a sparkle in his eyes whenever the brothers bantered. He was fond of Margaery. He was basically a god to his nephews.

Jaime didn’t have a lot of friends but those that he had, he had known for a long time. He was always ribbing at them, taking delight in riling them up. This was the good-natured, witty side of Jaime.

She got that with him too but because of how their relationship began, the circumstances that led to their marriage, there had always been a heavy undercurrent. He reminded her of the knights of old, noble and honorable, one who took chivalry to heart. Sometimes, she thought he might be fond of her too, with the way he smiled at her, or spoke to her. He must be, to help and marry her.

Jaime was always saving her, and probably everyone else. She could never forget his admission of the relationship he had with his sister. Cersei needed a protector from her grief, he wanted to forget. For anyone else, what they did was horrible and disgusting. Brienne was shocked—she still was—but she could understand. She was not herself in the days following Selwyn’s death. No one was ever herself again after the death of a loved one. Death was a grave wound that left visible scars—if you were lucky. Sometimes, it never ceased to bleed.

“You will not save me every time. You can not. I will not let you.” She said firmly as he frowned. “Promise me, please.”

Jaime was clearly torn and Brienne’s heart tightened. She knew that once he made that promise, he will keep it. He will hate her for forcing him to keep it. Fine. Just as long as he didn’t get hurt.

“I swear it.” He muttered.

Impulsively, she kissed him on the lips. “Thank you,” she whispered. She looked away from his startled expression. Then she stood up and went to her side of the closet.

Jaime licked his lips. “As you wish.”

As she browsed through the shelves for her oldest pair of pajamas, Jaime spoke up.

“You look like you could use a bath, wench. How about it?”

She glanced at him. “A bath?”

“Like in a tub,” he said with exaggerated slowness. Brienne grabbed a roll of socks from the drawer and threw it at him. It bounced on his chest. He chuckled and she gave him a small smile. Laughter was so rare between them. It was her turn to be surprised when Jaime got up from the bench and went to her. His smile was pleased and arrogant once catching sight of her pinkened cheeks, the color deepening as his arms circled her waist. He kissed her and she held her breath. He was kissing her because she kissed him, she  thought, refusing to yield to the cries of her body starved for his touch, for him. But she couldn’t help from arching her neck when his lips trailed down there, brushing against her pulse, teeth lightly grazing her freckles. She bit her lip to smother a laugh when he blew behind her ear, a particularly sensitive and ticklish spot. Her hands rested on his shoulders, loving the smooth texture of skin over taut muscles. Jaime pulled away slightly and continued their conversation.

“What do you say? I think I still have those fancy oils and foaming baths Marge gave me a while ago.”

“Why would she give you bath things?”

“I happen to take hygiene seriously.”

“No.” Brienne laughed, reddening. “I mean, I didn’t peg you for one who’s into baths. With oils and stuff.”

Jaime’s look was significant. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know yet. So, a bath?”

“Sounds good. Yeah. Why not?”

“Then pizza.”

It was getting better and better. “Alright.”

He grinned then suddenly patted her bottom. “Off you go, then.”

So Brienne went downstairs to the bathroom. While the tub was filling with water, she started undressing. The dress fell to her ankles. She looked around the bathroom, wondering where the oils and foaming bath might be kept. She had cleaned this bathroom a dozen times but never snooped around. She thought to check the medicine cabinet first.

Suddenly, the door opened. She shrieked, hands quickly covering her breasts as Jaime entered the room, clad in only a towel. He cocked an eyebrow at her big hands covering her tits before his eyes slid down her person. His eyes had the brilliance of wildfyre as they lingered between her thighs. Brienne kept an arm firm around her chest while the other lowered to cover herself. Her panties were still on but still. Jaime gave her an exasperated look and he leaned against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other. The towel, already low around his waist, moved wickedly lower. Brienne tried not to stare at the golden curls well below his navel.

“Jaime!” She managed to sputter upon finding her voice. Her eyes were stormy. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for a bath. Why are you covering yourself up?” He sounded truly mystified.

“I thought _I_ was having a bath!”

“ _We_ are having a bath.”

“Oh.” Of course. He could relax too. He deserved it. But with her? Naked? “What? Wait, why?”

Jaime rolled his eyes and chucked off the towel. _Oh, fucking Seven._ Was there not a moment when Jaime didn’t look like a god? The scruffy blond hair, the shadow around his magnificent jaw he will be shaving tomorrow, and that body. _Oh, gods. The gods truly hated her._ Brienne turned away but the damage was done. She was no cock expert but Jaime’s was really beautiful. It was smooth and long, thick with a perfectly round head. His balls were also plump. Her mouth watered and she lowered her head in shame.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jaime demanded, his voice snatching her away from musings she should never entertain. “Take off those ridiculous panties. Why can’t a husband join his wife in the bath in your book, hmm, wench?”

 _“Brienne.”_ She snapped. “And—we haven’t. . .”

We haven’t touched, she wanted to say. They’ve never fucked again after his proposal, after the wedding. He satisfied her that night but she already knew the shape and feel of him. The memory was torture.

Then felt him move behind her. Then his warmth was at her back as he gently nudged her aside to get to the tub. Brienne watched as he stepped in, the thick pillar of his cock and his balls bobbing. She continued to cover herself, blushing down to her chest as Jaime leaned back. Elbows resting on the sides, his expression smug and mocking, he looked kingly. _No, a god._ The water lapping at his abs, the wet, dark curls on his chest made him look so good, so. . .appetizing. Brienne stared helplessly at her dress on the floor. As she did, Jaime groaned, a rough, earthy sound that caused her stomach to flutter and her cunt to swell. She knew that sound well. He made it when he feasted from between her legs. She clenched her thighs.

“We haven’t what?” He drawled, closing his eyes and leaning his head on the edge of the tub. The water was still clear. Brienne’s big, traitorous eyes fell between his legs. She had to force herself to watch the graceful movement of his legs knifing through the water as they rose. He propped his feet at the edge of the tub.

“Get in here,” he said softly, but still edged with command. “And lose the panties.”

“We won’t fit,” Brienne whispered, finding herself beginning to panic. Sure, the tub was wide and long—bigger than most she had seen but they were well over six feet and broad, especially her.

“Yes we will. And the water is fucking great. You’re missing a lot. I do like how you can’t stop ogling me but touching is better than looking.” He winked at her.

Brienne started backing away. “But the oils. . the cream.”

“Under the sink, if you don’t mind. But I’m happy with soap, if that’s alright with you.”

“No, it’s okay.” So Brienne dove for the storage under the sink. There they were. A choice of winter rose  lavender, vanilla and honey oils along with crème foams. “Um, which scent?”

“You choose.” Jaime said huskily. He was moving in the water again.

She turned back to the tub, an arm still around her tits, the hand of the other clutching a bottle and a cannister. By then Jaime’s eyes were open and he was making no attempt to disguise that he was watching her. Brienne poured the crème. Jaime grinned as foam and bubbles began to form. Next, she put a few drops of oil. The steam from the bath was soon perfumed and Jaime sniffed appreciatively.

“Vanilla and honey. Of course.” He held out his hand to her. “Now, get in here.” He sounded impatient.

“Turn around,” she said desperately.

He shook his head. “No. What’s this? I can fuck you but I can’t watch you? I like looking at you. Haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since you showed me the goods. Remember?”

She did. It felt like a long time ago.

“Brienne.” His voice could seduce even the most devout to the Seven. Maybe all of the Seven. “Please.”

He should never, ever say that word. She was used to Jaime in command. But when he pleaded. . .it wasn’t that she enjoyed it. It was so unlike him. That he would do it only to her was driving her thoughts once again to things she should never think about.

So, for the last time, she tried to protect herself. “I—I don’t think we’ll fit.”

“Yes, we will.” He growled. Then he glared at her panties. “How much is that worth you can’t let  go? Because I’ll pay to rip it off you.”

Brienne squawked. He smirked as she quickly bent. Her face hot, she ignored his hand as she made to enter the tub. He gripped her on the thigh.

“No, wench. Not on the other end. Lean on me.”

_Oh my gods._

He took her hand and pulled her to him, helping her maneuver so her wide hips were between his thighs, her back flush to his front. Brienne gulped at the familiar prodding at her hip. _How long has he been hard?_ He felt like he could drill a hole through concrete. She tried to shift away for both their sakes but Jaime’s arm quickly wrapped around her waist. Before she could figure out what he was up to, his other hand was helping her turn her face for a hungy, open-mouthed kiss.

She moaned, out of relief and gladness to be touching him like this. It had been so long. She didn’t miss fucking Jaime. She missed Jaime. They were lovers who just happened to be married but she cared for him, cared for him in ways she had yet to understand but her feelings were true. She angled her head some more and he grunted, driving his tongue deep in her mouth. He released his hold on her neck to play with her breasts, pinching the stiff tips of her nipples.

“Jaime,” she gasped.

“Do you want to?” He asked. His voice was a little unsteady too. His heart was beating fast against her back. “I’d like more of what you were offering earlier, wench.”

_“Please.”_

She sought his firm lips this time, gasping against his tongue as her need escalated to desperate heights. They were both very warm, but not from the water. Jaime’s palms cupped her breasts, pinching her nipples. She tore her mouth away from his to cry out and moan. His breath was rapid and hot in her ear.

When his hand flattened on her cunt, they  groaned. Brienne was swollen and slick, her juices flowing to her thighs. “Gods, Brienne,” he growled, petting the rough, wet curls before spreading her labia open. As a finger entered her, her hips thrust. Jaime made a sound hung between a chuckle and a groan as she fucked herself on his finger, unable to wait. Brienne was blushing but she hardly gave a damn that she was acting so wanton. _She had missed him so much._ As he continued his outrageous caresses, he whispered in her ear. “Put your legs on the edge, wench. Yes. _Fucking yes._ ”

She wailed and shrieked as his fingers stroked her, stretching the soft, sweet flesh to fuck her harder, deeper. She grabbed at his hair, panted against his cheek at his rough but irresistible touches. He managed to hiss at her at what she else she could do, to him. Despite her condition, she managed to wrap a hand firmly around his cock and rub him.

Jaime cursed then gritted out her name as he came, a thick jet spurting and breaking through the water before falling on her thigh. His fingers curled hard, pulling out oh so excruciatingly slowly before jamming back inside her. The force pushed her hard against his chest. She groaned, mouth falling wide open. She barely felt his kisses on her cheek, down her jaw as his fingers turned inside her, touching her _everywhere._ His thumb pressed on her clit, the sensitive flesh feeling every whorl. It was too much. After her body had been deprived for so long, it couldn’t take anymore.

 _“Jaime.”_ A wet, heaving sound from her tight throat just before she fell apart.

 

The aftermath left her nearly liquid, her head lolling heavily on the side despite the firm support of Jaime’s shoulder. Dazed, she stared at the pale gray ceiling, blinking rapidly to clear the golden spots from her vision.

She felt herself become more alert from how she felt Jaime’s kisses. At first, they were airy, almost-kisses on her cheek, his hands idly caressing her body wherever it went. As her vision acquired its usual clarity, his kisses were more firm, hotter. His hands on her were possessive.

Water trickling from the sponge he was squeezing onto her breasts had her jerking. A warm laugh bathed her ear and she flushed, straightening up. Jaime sighed, letting her move. Unsure, she glanced at him over her shoulder. He was not stopping her, but he was now sponging her back. She swallowed a moan. It felt as potent as his own hands mapping her body.

“You have so many freckles,” he told her, pausing to kiss what she thought were the spots he was talking about. “I’ve never seen so many before.”

Brienne bowed her head. His knees were bent, hard knobs breaking through the soapy surface of the water. The air was sweet with the smell of the oil and the cream.

“I wonder how I will be painting them,” he continued, sponging her back again.

“We haven’t done that yet. Not after. . .” her voice faltered, unable to continue. She refused to refer in any way to the night that changed everything for them. Not while in this room, in this tub. Not when she was in Jaime’s arms.

“I don’t know, wench.” And she was grateful he was pretending to misunderstand. “I’d love to face this challenge. To give justice to your infinite beauty marks.”

“Those are not beauty marks.”

“You have a pattern of freckles here that looks like a J.” She could tell he was smiling. “I guess I’m meant to be yours, wench.”

_“Brienne.”_

“Of course it is.”

She sighed. He kissed her on the shoulder and resumed sponging her back.

“I loved baths as a child.” Jaime said. “My mother would draw us a warm bath. She let us use her fancy creams and oils. Especially during the winter. We’ll be in her large tub, a big one with lion’s paws for legs. It was like being in a pool.”

“Us?” She asked.

A pause and then, “Me. And Cersei.”

The sister he fucked. The sister he turned to out of grief.

Jaime was sponging her shoulders. “What was she like?”

“My mother? She was beautiful. The most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, even now. She was funny. Always teasing my father. When she died, I never saw Tywin smile as he used to when she was alive. It’s been said that when my mother died, so did the heart of Tywin Lannister.” Jaime’s breath caressed her nape. “When a person dies, so do the people around her.”

Brienne wondered about her own mother. Alysanne died on what supposed to be the happiest day of her life. Brienne never knew her. By not knowing her, she realized, she also never knew the father she had. Though Tywin never blamed her, nor made her feel in any way that her birth took his wife away, she always felt that the man who raised and loved her was not the man he used to be. It explained the mountain of debts he left her with. Selwyn may have only lived as long as he could for her sake but he had died a long time ago. With Alysanne.

Jaime’s hand slowed, indicating that he too was deep in thought. If people, as he said, died along with someone who actually died, then the man with her now was not the Jaime Lannister of before.

And she would not change one little thing about him.

Brienne closed her eyes before opening them. Resolved, she turned around. Jaime adjusted to give her room and retracted his legs, thinking she would be slunking to the opposite edge. Instead, she merely turned around so she was facing him, her knees to his chest. He looked relaxed, almost vulnerable, with his head leaning back and baring the elegant column of his throat. Yet when their eyes met, she saw a despondence there too. For his mother. For his sister.

“Tell me about Cersei.”

His shoulders visibly tensed. “What for?”

“Jaime, please know that I will never judge you for what happened. I know how people are when grieving. _I know._ But. . .you told me about her. About the two of you. I do wish to understand.”

“What’s there to understand? We fucked each other for comfort.” Jaime was clearly displeased with the subject as he made to leave. Brienne put a hand on his arm and he looked at her. He seemed pained but also annoyed.

“You said it was a betrayal.” When Jaime tried to move away again, her hold on him firmed. “Jaime, I sense that you’ve carried this inside you for so long. How is it a betrayal? Your mother died. What could you know?”

“We were sixteen!” He suddenly roared. But Brienne didn’t react, she just stared at him. “Gods, Brienne. We were sixteen. We weren’t thinking but nobody forced us. I should have known better.”

“Why only you?”

Jaime let out a long, tired sigh.

“I want to hear it. You need to talk about it. You told me before that talking helps. _Talk._ Please, Jaime.” Her hand climbed to his cheek.

They stared at each other for what felt like a long time. The water gently lapped and surged around them. The bubbles eased and the scent of oils receded from the air. But her gaze on him never faltered, searching his face, hoping, begging him to trust her.

“You’re sure about this, wench?”

She nodded and started to move away. But Jaime held her hand to his cheek some more. “No. Stay.” She blushed as he helped her move so she was straddling his lap. His cock tested against her belly. Looking up at her, he said, “I need you when I do this.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He pulled her head down and kissed her. Brienne breathed his name as she kissed him back, already thanking him for trusting her. They were reluctant to move away from each other but she didn’t go far—Jaime’s arms around her waist kept her on his lap. She felt huge like this but Jaime was tall too, and didn’t have to angle his head sharply to look in her eyes.

“Cersei was the first person I drew. Of course, she was. She was beautiful, even as a child. Demanding, spoiled, with a streak of meanness so our parents were often reprimanding her. But I loved her. She loved me. We’ve always been together so before our first breath, it was already there. Cersei was never friendly, she was never warm, but she loved our family. Especially Tyrion. He terrified her at first because he was deformed as a baby. She was fond of him, but not as fond as she was of me.”

“I speak of this love we have because I think you should know that it’s the only name that is closest to describing what I had with my sister, my twin. I think it’s more than love. It’s what made me blind to everything bad about her. Everything, Brienne. Because Cersei was not above to hatching out schemes that would harm people. She once claimed that a maid stole our mother’s necklace. It was just misplaced but it got the woman fired.”

“Because of this love, we have always been close. Yes, I fucked her years later but this love was never. . .it was never anything romantic. It was always there, Brienne. Always. Cersei was also vain and she was thrilled when I would ask her to sit for me. She knew she was beautiful, even as a child. She said I’m the only one to really see her. She supported me, you know. Being a Lannister comes with serious baggage. Being the eldest, it was expected that I would take over the empire someday. You can see that it never happened. Tywin tried to stamp it out of me. I think if not for my mother, I would have ended up as he wished—the future CEO the business.”

“My mother, like Cersei, supported my interest. I loved drawing for her. She loved the portraits I did of Cersei and she used to hang them in their bedroom. Cersei would model for me.”

Jaime paused. Brienne didn’t speak, waiting for him to continue. From the frown on his face and the set of his jaw, he was approaching a difficult subject.

“When we were fourteen, Cersei offered to pose for me. Nude. This may sound unbelievable but it was perfectly innocent. Yes, she was no longer a child but to me, she was just flesh and bone. Flesh and bone and offering an opportunity for me to learn more. That’s it. But I made the mistake of not storing them properly and a maid saw the sketches. She told our mother.”

Jaime stopped, letting out a shaky breath.

“It was a nightmare. Our mother was hysterical. She was sure that something. . .that I had been untoward. She tore up the sketches and forbade me and Cersei from doing anything like that again. We protested that we didn’t do anything wrong. There was no malice from either of us but I guess. . .the way it looked. I had never seen our mother so angry before. She threatened to tell Tywin if we persisted, warned me in particular that she will stop me from painting for the rest of my life if we did it one more time. To ensure we followed, Cersei was sent away.”

Brienne was confused. “Why? If it was. . .I know it’s odd, Jaime, what you did, but why? Did she not trust Cersei or you?”

“I think she may have had an inkling.”

“And your father just agreed?”

Jaime’s expression was sardonic. “For all her beauty, Cersei was only a woman. Tyrion, the youngest and a dwarf, had more right to the company than she did. He viewed Cersei as only for building alliances, nothing more. He didn’t fight our mother on this. It would be almost two years before I saw Cersei again. After our mother’s death.” His eyes watered and he sniffed. “She was in a car accident.”

It was horrible. To never be able to say goodbye to your parent. Brienne leaned down to kiss Jaime. It was small comfort but he groaned and kissed her back, arms wrapping around her slick waist and pressing her hard to his chest. She cupped his face in her hands, wishing that her kisses could heal him, even just a little. Between them, his cock pushed and surged against her thigh. A stuttering breath fell from her lips and she put her hands on his shoulders, indicating the end of their kiss. Jaime sighed and rested his forehead against hers.

“I’m so scared of losing you,” he admitted.

“Not happening,” she vowed. “I swear it, Jaime. I won’t go unless you tell me.”

She sat back, blushing because he wouldn’t her go any further.

Jaime had a faraway look in his eyes. His voice softened and his entire body was tensing once again.

“Cersei was summoned back. It—It happened soon after she returned. Almost immediately. She was crying and angry. Angry at the gods for taking our mother away so cruelly. Hating everyone. I was the only one who could get between her and her hate. I told her I would protect her, I will make everything go away if I could. I’d turn back time. It was painful seeing her like that. And. . .to this day I don’t know who made the first move. We were kissing and we would stop, look at each other. We knew it was wrong but neither of us could say it. We were too broken, too angry and confused. Too much in need of each other because there was no one that understood. Not our father. Not Tyrion. Where else could we go, Brienne? Every minute we were together I knew it was wrong. _We both did._ But being together like that. . .it was the only way to stop the pain. There was so much of it we were drowning.”

Brienne started to put her arms around him. Jaime surprised her by shaking his head sharply. His eyes were red.

“But that’s not the end of it, wench. No. We never talked about it. Cersei had a boyfriend. I loved my sister but never desired her. We needed each other. . .and that was it. Or so I thought.” Jaime was beginning to tremble. As Brienne started to speak, to suggest that it might be better to continue this somewhere warm, he continued, “Cersei got married years later. To a man named Robert Baratheon. She fell for him for his good looks but. . .he was abusive. I didn’t know until. . .” He looked mad at himself. “Brienne, I saw him forcing himself on her. I saw him and did nothing.”

Brienne stilled.

“I didn’t. . .I couldn’t understand it even though I knew what was happening. Cersei came to see me and then. . .that’s when she told me. That she had been wanting to leave Robert but Father won’t let her. Even Robert refused. She was crying and so angry. I had failed to protect her again so I promised . . .and she said I should. I should protect her. That’s when. . .”

Jaime closed his eyes and a tear fell.

“J-Jaime?”

His eyes opened, bloodshot and teary. “I tried to stop her.”

“Stop her from what?”

“I should have been able to stop her.” Jaime was now talking to himself. Worried, her fingertips fluttered to his jaw, imploring him gently to look at her. Jaime was beginning to shiver. “I don’t know why but. . .she. . .Brienne. _My own sister_. The sister I loved all my life and vowed to protect. She forced herself. . .”

Brienne’s hand fell hard back in the water. Jaime didn’t notice how the water splashed to his face. _His own sister._

“What happened a month after that was an indication of how far she’d gone. . .she killed herself. And there was a child. I never knew. . .if it was mine or Robert’s and . . .I drank to forget. Everything. I don’t know her exact reasons but I had to be part. . . _I didn’t stop her._ ”  

Brienne stared at him, mouth hanging open, her entire body deathly still. Jaime was shivering so hard. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he started to fall into the water. “Jaime!” She shouted, catching him just before his head hit the edge of the tub. “Jaime!”

He was a dead weight in her arms. He was moaning, murmuring nonsense. She had to get them both out of the water. Tucking an arm under his back and the other under his knees, she straightened up. Walls of water fell and sloshed back in the tub and the floor. The floor would be too cold with Jaime still shivering. Grunting under his weight, she stumbled out of the bathroom and lurched toward the living room.

Nonsense continued to spill from his lips. Brienne hurried back to the bathroom, slipping on a robe then rooting in a cabinet for a fresh one for Jaime. When she returned, he was struggling to sit up on the couch, his eyes were squinty. “I got you,” she whispered, huddling him in the robe. He pressed his face to her chest, seeking the warmth radiating from her skin though it was still damp. “Oh, Jaime. I’m so sorry.” She murmured, embracing him tight and rocking him in her arms. “I’m so sorry. Come back to me. _Please_. Come back to me.”

In between rubbing warmth back to his skin and murmuring what she hoped were soothing sounds, she kissed him. Kissed him on the forehead, the temple, along his hairline. The tip of his nose. His cheeks. His chin. Throat. Jaime groaned and his hand tugged at her hair, urging her lips towards his mouth. So she kissed him, pouring into it the tangle of emotions only this man could awaken in her. She nearly wept in relief when he kissed her back, his passion matching hers. She held him to her, her legs climbing to the sides of his waist. Jaime only had to nudge her slightly so she would lay fully on the couch.

He was still cool to the touch, but where her hands and parts of her pressed warmed towards a fever. As their mouths and tongues continued to clash, she heard the rustle of the damp robe being pushed off his shoulders and towards the floor. That roused her as she realized that not only was Jaime hard and thrusting between her legs, he was apparently feeling better. Her eyes widened in question in answer, his own gazed at her tenderly.

Mesmerized, she sat up to pull off her robe. Jaime groaned and drew her toward him, meaning for her to be on top of him once again. The resolve in Jaime’s face was a mirror of her own. After two months of just sleeping with each other, of longing looks, finally, here they were. But things were different now.

“Come here,” Brienne whispered, her voice dark and heavy with emotion. She lay back on the couch, offering herself.

The message was not lost to Jaime. “I will never forget this, Brienne.”

He had been on top of her before but never like this. It was clear he had been holding out on her. His mouth seized hers like a man starved, unabashedly licking at her lips and thrusting his tongue deep and hard as if to choke her. She gagged a little but when he began to retreat, clung to him and begged. He smiled at her but eased in his kisses, giving her teasing, tasting ones that made her toes curl.

The limited space of the couch didn’t give her much room to move, given her position. The opposite was true for Jaime. She waited for the panic to grip her heart, for her breath to freeze and her throat to close up. But nothing. No fear, no memory of that night on the floor of Roose Bolton’s apartment came. Nothing. Only Jaime. Jaime unleashing a storm of kisses from her throat to her breasts, nipping at skin. His lips wrapped greedily around her nipple drew throaty cries from her echoing throughout the loft but he didn’t stop. And she hoped he never stopped.

The words were there. Crammed in her throat. Aching to be released.

If she spoke them out loud, he would never leave her.

He vowed to protect her. She needed him to vow to never leave her, not because she asked.

So she would take all that could be had, right now and in the days to follow if she could be blessed once more.

Her nipples were red, turgid points but Jaime couldn’t get enough. He suckled as if to draw milk, cheeks hollowing, his eyes never leaving her face slack with rapture. A brush of his fingertip on a nipple had her jerking sharply, indicating her current sensitivity. He granted her mercy by transferring his lips down to her flat stomach, a tongue circling her navel.

This time she was trembling.

It had nothing to do with anxiety and everything to do with the anticipation of being with Jaime. Time did not matter—too long or too short—as long as she was with him. Her legs opened in submission as his lips brushed her inner thighs next. Her cunt was throbbing, eager, thick honey was pouring out of her and down her thighs, on to the couch. She wanted to beg but she was also delirious from pleasure. Jaime seemed to want to count every freckle down her legs and up with kisses. Higher and higher, she approached the sweet promise, the freedom their joining promised her. When his finger entered her cunt, and his tongue settled on her clit, she came quickly, harshly. Her nails scored on the arm of the couch.

She was still high from her orgasm when she felt Jaime moving over her. It was his lips on her, his tongue slick with the taste of her, that brought her back to this loft, in his arms. She would groan his name but she couldn’t tear herself away from his kisses long enough. Her hands touched the firm, muscled contour of his back, shyly cupped the high curve of his ass.

Her wet passage was an ease for his cock but he still had to thrust a few times before impaling her fully. Brienne caught her breath. Jaime gasped. He had been inside her before but he felt new. Her cunt strained around him.

“Okay, wench?” He grunted against her lips.

She nodded. “Yes. Jaime, please make me yours.” The words spilled out before she knew. A hand flew to her mouth and she began to stutter, to take it back. Her heart was getting the best of her. Jaime kissed her.

_“You are.”_

Jaime swung his hips back. Brienne held on.

He took her hard. There was no gentleness, no teasing smiles. Brienne knew she was going to be sore and bruised but she didn’t care. They were finally together, having released themselves from the chains hindering them for so long. She couldn’t stop touching, couldn’t stop kissing. He begged her every now and then to not close her eyes.

Maybe he felt the same, thinking that they had crossed a crucial point but needed to see for himself that everything happening was real.

It seemed a dam of pent-up desire had burst between them. After the couch, they forced themselves up the stairs and toward the bed. Spacious, wide bed that beckoned them to abandon whatever misgiving lingered and just surrender, just be. Jaime fell on the bed first, Brienne in his arms. He started to turn so she was above him but she shook her head and pressed her palm to his chest. His face brightened up, as now he knew for sure. She was blushing but sure as well. She had never been more sure of anything until this very moment.

Lying on her back, she searched his eyes and found a man who probably loved her. At least, he cared for her deeply. This she knew. She would keep it in her heart even long after they had parted.

But for now, she could ask him to make her his again. For as long as she still could.

So she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a loooong chapter. I know, I know.
> 
> It's supposed to be longer but I cut a scene that fits better in the next installment. It's also important but given that this installment focuses on Jaime and Brienne's personal issues, I had to make a choice. Deal with these issues then end with the scene I cut? Or make this chapter all about their issues? 
> 
> If you're reading this, you know what I chose. I didn't like how the last scene in the original draft stuck out. Plus, by moving it to the next part, I can give it more time as well as justice to the kind of storytelling it deserves. 
> 
> I also wanted to show that in this chapter, we get a glimpse of Brienne during the early part of this series. Remember? When she fought back and refused to tolerate anyone's bullshit? Jaime is instrumental to Brienne finding her groove again, so to speak. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. :-)

**Author's Note:**

> Much angst ahead. I thought to warn you, dear reader.


End file.
